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»49,  THE  «OL,»  SEEKER  OF 

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TEN    YEARS    A    POLICE 
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WlGLITTLE. 

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tive  thought.  I  am  sure  that  from  it  al 
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illustrations  of,  the  points  of  half  a  dozen 
sermons."  GEO.  E.  REED, 

Parsonage  Hanson  Place  M.  E.  Church, 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  Sept.  16,  1684. 


127 


STANDARD    LIBRARY   FOR   1884. 


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A  Story  for  Christmas. 

A 

' 

YANKEE  SCHOOL-TEACHER 
IN  VIRGINIA 


A    TALE    OF   THE    OLD    DOMINION 
THE    TRANSITION  STATE 


BY 

LTDIA  WOOD    BALDWIN 


FUNK    &   WAGNALLS 

NEW   YORK  1884  LONDON 

10  AND  12  DEY  STREET  44  FLEET  STREET 

All  Rights  Reserved 


"\lO/w 

0 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1884,  by 

FUNK  &  WAGNALLS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  PAGE 

"  THE  LAND  OF  WAIT."  ....................  .  ..............      7 

II. 

SIMEON  BARSTOW  ..........................................     16 

III. 
SnucKiNG  CORN  BY  MOONLIGHT  .............................    22 

IV. 
CHRISTMAS  ......  ...........................................    27 

V. 
JOHN  LADY  .............  ...................................     33 


MRS.  BARSTOW'S  SPIRITUAL  ADVISER 


VII. 
CESAR'S  CABIN 46 

VIII. 
MRS.  CRITTENDEN  "  GOES  HER  WAY." 52 

IX. 
"  DAT  OLE  Josi !" 59 

M143843 


IV  CONTENTS. 

X.  PAGE 

AUNT  LUCINDA  GATHERS  CAT-TAILS C3 

XI. 
A  MIDNIGHT  INCANTATION 69 

XII. 
"  MAMMY'S  LITTLE  PETE.". 73 

XIII. 
"  WELCOME  UP  OR  WELCOME  BY  ?" 81 

XIV. 
MORE  ABOUT  MRS.  BARSTOW 89 

XV. 
A  SUNDAY  BREAKFAST ,  100 

XVI. 
THE  "  TRACTABLE  MEETIN'." „ , 110 

XVII. 
How  UNCLE  JUDAH  "  CAME  THROUGH." 117 

XVIII. 
"  THEM  DOCTORS." 125 

XIX. 
MAMMY  ROSE  AND  YELLOW  JOE 131 

XX. 

JOE  WRITES  HIS  NAME  IN  DUST 136 

XXI. 
A  POLITICAL  MEETING -. 140 


CONTENTS.  V 

XXII.  PAGE 

PERCY'S  RETREAT 148 

XXIII. 
STELLA  JANE  "  GOES  OFF." 159 

XXIV.  1 
GOSSIP 166 

XXV. 
JASPER'S  WIFE 176 

XXVI. 
JINNY'S  "  RETRIAL." 190 

XXVII. 
"  BHUDDEII  SAM'LLS'S  HOUSEWARMING."  198 

XXVIII. 
MRS.  SIIEPARDSON 203 

XXIX. 
"A  CUP  o'  TEA." 212 

V-N 

XXX. 
MARIAN'S  SECOND  VISIT  TO  "  STETTEN  WOOD." 218 

XXXI. 
THE  SICK-CHAMBER 227 

XXXII. 
"SOME  HAPPY  TIDINGS."..  .  233 


A  YANKEE  SCHOOL-TEACHER  IN  VIRGINIA, 


i. 

"  THE    LAND    OF    WAIT." 

ONE  evening  in  December,  1870,  Miss  Marian  Stone, 
of  Massachusetts,  found  the  little  world  of  Chula  Depot, 
in  Virginia,  before  her.  She  stood  a  few  minutes  in  an 
uncertain  mood,  watching  the  departing  train,  and  then 
looked  around  her. 

"  This  is  the  '  jumping-off  place  '  I  am  sure,"  she 
murmured.  "  To  think  1  should  have  come  so  far  to 
find  it  !" 

The  planks  of  the  platform  had  decayed  in  places,  and 
she  surveyed  it  apprehensively  as  she  paced  along.  "  I 
must  learn  to  pick  my  way  ;  one  can  walk  in  spots,  at 
all  events." 

She  reached  the  end,  and  stood  there  surveying  the 
scenery — a  log  structure  a  few  rods  away,  which  she  re 
flected  about,  finally  deciding  that  it  was  a  blacksmith's, 
although  there  were  no  signs  of  business. 

Across  the  road  was  a  small  frame  building  with  a 
rudely  painted  sign,  "  J.  R.  Mason's  Store,"  a  fringe  of 
little  black  boys  outside,  and  a  stout,  tall  n  egress  tur- 
baned  with  a  yellow  kerchief,  who  stooped  to  enter  the 
low,  open  doorway. 


,SGHOX)L-TEAPHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

It  was  all  so  foreign  and  lonesome  to  the  town-bred 
Northern  girl  !  Her  mind  flashed  backward  toward  the 
beginning  of  her  pilgrimage.  Far  away  rose  the 
picturesque  Berkshire  hills  ;  stretched  away  those  broad 
streets,  elm-shaded,  and  lined  with  white  houses  rivalling 
the  surrounding  snowy  drifts.  It  seemed  as  if  she  could 
hear  the  merry  jingle  of  the  bells  as  the  swift  horses 
dashed  by,  as  if  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  laughing  faces 
snugly  hooded  with  far  and  scarlet  cloth. 

Not  a  dwelling-house  in  sight  except  the  little  one 
across  the  track,  built  for  the  station-master's  family. 
She  could  see  a  group  of  barefooted  white  children  in 
front  of  the  low  porch,  who  watched  her  movements 
curiously  and  chattered  concerning  them.  Borne  of  their 
talk  reached  her  as  she  looked  up  and  around,  at  the 
frequent  glimpses  of  woodland,  at  the  red  clay  of  the 
road  winding  in  and  out,  now  lost  to  sight,  then  suddenly 
reappearing  far  away  ;  at  the  scanty  pastures  set  in 
thickets  of  pines,  with  red  <(  galls"  cropping  out  unex 
pectedly,  and  deep  gullies  where  the  soil  had  baked  in 
the  sun's  fierce  heat  and  cracked  like  earthquake  seams, 
then  had  been  washed  by  driving  rains  into  precipices, 
disfiguring  the  landscape. 

She  crossed  the  road  and  entered  the  store.  The 
negress  was  drawing  rations,  a  peck  of  corn-meal  and  one 
and  a  half  pounds  of  bacon .  She  was  laundress  for  the 
storekeeper's  family,  and  had  come  for  her  weekly  sup 
plies.  She  was  just  poising  her  basket  on  her  head  to 
leave,  but  she  set  it  down  to  have  a  good  look  at  the 
stranger.  In  that  moment  Aunt  Jinsy  had  mentally 
"  allowed  "  her  to  be  "  quality." 

"  I  was  informed  that  a  Mr.  Barstow  would  meet  me 
to-day,"  timidly  began  Miss  Marian. 

"  I    declar'  !"    ejaculated    Aunt    Jinsy,    "  I     clone 


b'lieve  you  mus'  be  de  teacher  at  las'  !  We  all  on  us 
done  giv'  up  seein'  ye  'fore  Chris'mas.  Mighty  nigh  t' 
Chris'mas,  suah  1" 

"  1  have  been  quite  ill  or  I  should  have  been  here 
sooner.  But  how  warm  and  soft  the  air  is  now  !  And 
1  left  snow  and  ice  and  cold  winds  not  three  days  ago  ! 
and  over  the  road  are  barefooted  children  playing  !  It 
is  wonderful  !" 

Aunt  Jinsy  softly  laughed.  "  Oh,  yis,  dey  neber 
yit  has  had  a  shoe  on  dere  foots  ;  dey  jus'  don't  mind  de 
snow  when  it  come  no  inor'n  dey  min'  de  clay  path. 
But  de  snow  arn  no  'count  here  ;  it  neber  las'  one 
week." 

u  I  must  find  some  conveyance  to  take  me  to  Mr.  Bar- 
stow' s,  where  1  am  to  board.  There  don't  appear  to  be 
many  people  hereabout." 

"  Dat  dere  ain't,  honey  !  1  done  hear  Mr.  Basto  say 
yistiddy  he  done  'spec'  some  one  mos'  any  day.  'Pears 
like  he  oughter  bin  here  den  !  But  he  am  mighty  cur' us 
sort  ;  him  ain't  quality  sort  like  what  yer'm  used  ter. 
I  dunno  how  you'll  like  ter  stay  dere." 

"  We  will  see  about  that,"  smiled  Marian,  "  if  I  can 
manage  to  reach  their  house." 

u  1  done  lib  on  his  farm.  G-oodmun  works  his  Ian'  on 
shares.  1'se  gwine  straight  dar.  1  kin  hoof  it  as  easy 
as  ter  grub  up  a  sassafras  root  ;  but  laws-a-raussy  !  you 
can't  tote  yerself  ha'f  datdist'nce,  Missy  !  I  disremem- 
ber  jess  how  fur  folks  say  'tis — six  or  seven  mile  1 
reckin.  I  know  f'r  sartain  it's  a  long  stretch.  Thar 
now  !  jess  hush  !  don'  go  fur  t'  make  any  racket  t' 
A?,m,"  with  a  movement  of  one  brawny  arm  enjoining 
silence.  u  Ef  you're  our  teacher  he  won't  go  fur  ter  git 
yer  thar  !  He's  mighty  sot  'ginst  us  niggers  learnin'. 
All  de  white  folks  am  sot  'ginst  it  !  Mass'r  Jim  Dick 


10  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIUGINIA. 

no  wuss'n  de  res'.  You  jess  come  outen  hya,r  an'  Jinsy 
'11  see  'bout  it." 

"  I  did  not  know  there  was  such  a  feeling  among  the 
white  people,"  said  Marian,  hastily  leaving  the  doorway. 
"  Perhaps  I  might  wait  at  the  station  ?" 

"  Course  you  kin.  An'  I'll  start  up  dat  pore  creetur 
arter  ye.  He's  nothin'  b't  a  rack  o'  bones,  b't  Steller 
might  come,  1  reck'n  ;  she  done  drive  de  mules  eb'ry- 
whar.  An'  dey've  got  a  right  smart  kyart  'thout  no 
springs  t'  speak  of,  but  mighty  comfor'ble." 

Aunt  Jinsy  paused  for  breath,  and  as  she  settled  her 
basket  firmly  anew  she  threw  admiring  glances  at  the 
girlish  figure. 

"  I'll  go  along  with  you,  Aunty.  I  cannot  wait  here  ; 
such  a  desolate  place  1  never  saw  before.  1  don't  like 
to  see  you  vanish  away." 

"  Jis'  so  !"  assented  Jinsy,  admiring  the  sound  of  the 
"  dictionary  word,"  which  she  failed  to  understand. 
u  Mighty  nice  country  !  I'se  done  raised  nigh  about. 
Dar  now,  honey  !  yer  walks  off  right  peart  !  I'm  boun' 
t'  keep  close  behin'.  De  road  am  somewhat  lonesome, 
b't  mighty  pleasant — "  Jinsy 's  foot  caught  in  a  deep  rut 
and  she  went  down  on  one  knee.  "  Dar  now  !"  Miss 
Marian  heard  her  muttering,  as  she  picked  herself  up, 
66  1  feel  swear-words  when  I  done  do  any  thin'  so  simple 
as  dat  !  'fore  de  teacher,  too  !  Shouldn't  wonder  if  dey 
go  f'r  t'  turn  me  outen  de  church." 

"  1  wish  you  would  come  up.  I  wish  to  talk  to 
you,"  said  Marian. 

"  Dar  now  !  I  c'n  hear  ye,  honey,  eb'ry  word.  Yer 
voice's  like  music,  jess  like  de  tinkle  o'  our  white  ladies' 
pianny.  Tink  I  dunno  how  ter  treat  white  ladies  ? 
inns'  keep  'spec'ful  distince  ;  dat  am  de  bery  way  Jinsy 
was  raised. 


"THE  LAND   OF  WAIT."  11 

"  Dis  now  am  Flat  Crick.  An'  mighty  drizzlin'  it 
looks  now.  We  c'n  step  over  'thout  de  bridge,  b't  in  de 
long  season  in  May,  when  de  rain  jess  'pears  like  t'  pour, 
dar's  no  cross' n',  even  on  de  bridge — de  waters  done 
kiver  it.  I  declar'  I  seen  a  man  on  hossback  once 
try  f ' r  t'  swim  over — mus'  a  had  some  pow'ful  reason 
f'r  gittin'  across  !  Him  done  come  mighty  nigh 
drownin'." 

4 1  But  how,  then,  do  they  cross  ?' ' 

"  Well,  honey,  dey  jess  goes  f  r  t'  wait.  De  water 
goes  down  in  two  days.mos'ly — dey  jess  has  ter  wait." 

"  So  this  is  the  Land  of  Wait?"  mused  Marian. 
"  Oh,  this  is  a  pretty  place  !"  she  added,  as  hedges  of 
osage  orange  suddenly  appeared  on  either  side  of  the 
road,  which  grew  smoother.  It  was  merely  a  "  planta 
tion  road  "  made  for  the  owner's  convenience.  On  and 
on  they  stretched,  and  presently  a  square,  frame,  white 
washed  mansion,  low,  with  broad  verandas,  and  over 
shadowed  by  stately  trees,  appeared.  As  they  passed 
Marian  saw  trellises  for  clambering  roses,  but  the  fence 
was  too  high  for  any  other  glimpse  of  the  garden. 

"  Dat  am  my  ole  home  !  Mas'r  Peyton  Mason's  place 
whar  I  wus  raised,"  said  Jinsy  proudly.  "  De  white 
folks  call  it  de  '  Hermitage.'  Mighty  nice  plantation  in 
slave  time,  b't  sort  o'  run  down  now — heaps  o'  good  Ian' 
turned  out  ter  ole  field." 

"  And  pray  what  is  that  ?"   queried  Marian. 

"  Why,  when  dey  don't  raise  nuflfin  f'r  years  an' 
years,  an'  de  pines  done  spring  up  eb'rywhar,  an'  de 
branch  lan's  done  go  ter  swamps,  an'  surnake  an'  sassy  - 
fras  choke  up  de  good  Ian'  so  it's  all  a  waste  o'  weeds 
an'  brambles  an'  dewberry  vines,  dey  calls  it  ole  field. 
Dar's  a  big  plantation  ober  yere  called  King's  Ole  Field, 
case  it's  all  turned  out  ter  ruin.  1  'member  when  'twas 


12  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IX   VIRGINIA. 

mos'  beautiful.  Miss  Otely  an'  Miss  Betty  am  all  dat's 
leff  jere  ;  dey  dunno  noth'n'  'bout  managin'  no  mor'n  a 
baby.  Dey  t'ink  dey  great  bis'ness  ladies.  Some  lairs 
been  sold  off  ter  pay  debts  long  'nough  'fore  Mas'r  Pey 
ton  died  ;  de  Ian'  am  worked  on  shares  now  ;  an'  de  men 
jess  picks  out  de  good  spots,  and  don't  use  de  grubb'n' 
hoe  like  dey  used  ter  in  de  ole  time.  Dere  wa'n't  no 
sassyfras  'lowed  den  ter  grow  in  de  cornfield  !  It  needs 
a  right  sharp  oberseer  t'  look  after  dese  yere  niggers,  tell 
ye  it  does,  honey,  dey  am  sech  a  trifliii'  sort.  Mos' 
on  'em  needs  a  right  smart  lashin'  once  a  week,  a  sort 
o'  sweet'ner  f 'r  de  odder  time  !  See  all  dem  pines  whar 
1  used  t'  work  in  de  'baccy  ?  Ole  Gilbert  Peachy  was 
de  oberseer  ober  us  in  my  time  :  he  was  a  pow'ful 
strong  nigger  an'  a  heap  wuss'n  any  white  man  t'  drive 
us.  We  did  heaps  o'  work  in  dem  days,  suah  !" 

"  I  don't  like  the  red  soil,"  mused  Marian.  "  It  sug 
gests  awesome  things  to  me." 

Jinsy  went  on  talking  of  the  old  days  and  the  vanished 
glories  of  the  large  estates,  but  Marian  did  not  hear  her  ; 
her  thoughts  were  flying  backward  to  the  too  recent 
years  when  the  war  brought  inevitable  partings  and 
griefs,  which  shamed  to  silence  if  whispered  to  other 
than  the  birds  fluttering  in  the  free  mountain  air. 

"  Oh,  my  love  !  my  lost  !"  this  was  the  burden  of  her 
silent  cry. 

And  she  had  gathered  up  the  shattered  remnants  of 
her  womanly  hopes  and  brought  them  to  this  foreign 
land — the  grave  of  her  dearest— to  help,  as  best  she 
might,  this  new  race  of  freemen.  It  was  no  idle  fancy 
which  had  taken  possession  of  her  ;  she  meant  to  devote 
the  remainder  of  her  life  to  this  work,  "  to  live  and  die 
among  my  chosen  people,"  as  she  said. 

"  De  red  sile  am  de  strongest  Ian',  honey— brings  de 


13 

bestest  craps,"  Jinsy  was  saying.  "Dat  off  yere  am 
'  Stetten  Woods.'  'Pears  like  ye  better  step  over  dar 
an'  wait  f'r  Mr.  Basto  ;  seems  's  if  ye'd  drap  in  de  road. 
I  knowed  'twas  'tirely  too  fur  f'r  sich  as  you  !" 

"It  is  not  the  distance  so  much,  Aunt  Jinsy.  It 
is  all  so  disconsolate  !" 

Jinsy  set  down  her  basket,  ostensibly  to  rearrange  her 
turban,  but  really  to  give  her  woolly  head  beneath  it  a 
thump  writh  each  massive  fist,  in  order  to  introduce 
another  "  dictionary  word  "  into  those  somewhat  limited 
quarters.  The  spirit  of  freedom  rose  elate  in  Jinsy,  and 
she  meant  to  improve  her  privileges. 

"  Miss  Mar'yon,  I  w^ish  yer'd  done  tell  me  which  am 
de  highest  conversation  in  de  dictshun'ry — de  bery 
highest?" 

At  sight  of  the  anxiously  expectant  face,  together  with 
the  extraordinary  question,  Miss  Marian  broke  into  a 
peal  of  hearty  laughter. 

"  Dar  now,  1  like  t'  hear  dat  yer  !"  and  Jinsy  joined 
in  the  laugh,  while  wondering  what  could  "  hab  set  de 
pore  chile 'off  so  mighty  sudden  ?" 

Cl  I  guess  I  will  go  over  there  and  rest.  Are  there 
many  in.  the  family  ?"  asked  Marian. 

"  Jess  Miss  Lucy  an'  her  brother.  See  de  fam'ly 
sem'nary  ober  yender  ?  all  de  res'  is  dar,  'cept  one  dat 
done  get  killed  in  war-time,  an'  dey  neber  could  fin'." 
Marian's  face  wore  a  strangely  tender  expression  as  she 
looked  at  the  gleaming  headstones  in  the  distance. 
"  Dey  spec'  de  Yankees  done  hid  his  body,  dey  say. 
But  de  buzzards  done  fin'  all  dere  hidin's  !" 

"  Why,  Jinsy,  how  absurd  !  1  am  a  Yankee  myself, 
you  know." 

"  Yis,  I  know.  An'  yer  looks  jess  like  our  white 
ladies.  Dey  tells  us  in  war-time  drefful  stories  'bout 


14  A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

what  de  Yankees  would  do  t'  ns,  an'  we  jess  dat  silly  we 
Vlieve  our  white  folks.  Hi  !  we  done  skeered  mos'  t' 
death  when  de  Yankee  sojers  march  by  one  day  to  de 
Five  Forks,  dat  we  hide,  b't  some  didn't  run,  an'  when 
de  sojers  saw  dem  pore  creeturs  dey  jess  emptied  dere 
'sacks  o'  all  de  eatins  dey  had.  '  Here  !  take  dis  !  ' 
dey  kep*  a  shoutin',  an*  off  dey  went  so  happy,  a  singnT 
'  Old  John  Brown. '  Dunno  who  he  be,  suali  ;  reckin 
some  good  man  up  Norf .  Bless  ye,  honey  !  dey  knowed 
dey  wouldn't  be  'lowed  t'  go  hungry  a  minnit  fV  dat 
yer,  de  ^Norf  am  so  pow'ful  rich,  an'  we  uns  so  pow'ful 
pore  !" 

Miss  Marian  stole  noiselessly  up  the  sycamore  avenue, 
ascended  to  the  broad  veranda,  and  let  fall  the  ponder 
ous  brazen  knocker  on  the  door. 

Aunt  Jinsy  watched  her,  then  strode  away  as  if  wroth 
at  somebody.  "  I'll  hurry  up  dat  miz'ble,  no  'count, 
pryin'  ole  Simyun  Basto  !  He'll  nab  ter  come  b'tween 
coughs,  1  reckon.  Anyway,  ef  dey  both  be  Yankees  I 
c'n  see  dey's  made  ob  diff'runt  flesh  entirely.  Don't 
b'iieve  nuffin  'bout  ole  Basto  !  ain't  no  Yankee,  suah  !" 

Presently  a  little  black  boy  opened  to  Marian,  and 
grinned  delightedly.  "May  I  come  in?"  she  asked. 
"  And  will  you — "  But  the  little  fellow  had  sped  away 
for  Mammy  Rose,  who  hastened  to  the  hall- way. 

"  Be  you  our  teacher  ?  bress  de  Lawd,  chile,  f'r  ye  ! 
Dis  is  what  I  hab  libed  for  !"  devotedly  exclaimed  the 
aged  woman.  "  Yer  musn't  stan'  dere  ;  come  to  de  par 
lor  !"  She  hovered  over  the  girl,  intent  and  eager  to  be 
of  service.  Then  she  silently  fluttered  away  "  to  tell 
Miss  Lucy." 

Miss  Lucy  was  in  her  own  apartment,  in  bed.  From 
the  depths  of  an  immense  mound  of  feathers  the  voice 
sounded  unreally  faint  and  ghost-like. 


"TEE   LAXD    OF   WAIT.'*1  15 

"  But  you  mus*  see  her  !"  persisted  the  privileged 
servant.  u  For  defam'ly's  sake,  dear  !  Your  ma  neber 
'd  let  a  lady  wait  alone  in  de  parlor." 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing  to  the  purpose.  No  Yankee 
woman  ever  came  to  wait  in  my  ma's  parlor,  an'  you 
know  it,  mammy  !  Besides,  my  poultice  isn't  ready  t' 
come  off  f  r  a  full  hour.  How  can  you  be  so  unreason 
able,  mammy  ?  Do  you  want  me  t'  be  a  fright  to-night, 
at  my  own  party  ?  Such  a  delicate  complexion  as  Sarah 
Old  has  got  !  and  she  poultices  an  hour  every  day.  I'm 
glad  you  came,  though  ;  1  want  a  fresh  poultice  made  for 
my  hands— this  is  dry  as  a  brick  !  I  don't  see  why  my 
hands  should  tan  so  !  I  never  go  out  without  mittens. 
Well,  mammy,  get  what  you  choose  f 'r  your  visitor  down 
stairs — (she's  your  visitor  really  !) — do  the  honors,  of 
course — cake  and  wine,  or  whiskey,  if  she  prefers  that. 
I  should  !" 

"  Miss  Lucy!"  interrupted  the  aged  black  dame; 
"  I  raised  ye,  chile.  I'm  as  fond  o'  ye  as  I  am  o'  my 
own  flesh  an'  blood  (fonder,  I  sometimes  think),  but  ye 
make  me  'shamed  t'  t'ink  1  know  you,  when  you  talk 
so,  so — " 

u  So  much  fuss  over  a  Yankee  and  a  nigger  teacher  ! 
What  does  she  look  like,  anyway  ?  has  she  horns  ?  Come, 
mammy,  an'  fix  my  face  anew,  an'  tie  that  knot  tighter, 
I  won't  talk  !" 

Too  indignant  to  trust  herself  to  answer,  mammy  re 
arranged  the  several  poultices  and  silently  left  the  room, 
followed  by  a  mocking  laugh. 

Outside,  upon  the  landing,  she  relieved  her  mind. 
"  Yis,  ole  mammy  done  know  Miss  Lucy  speak  de  truf 
when  she  say  she  prefer  de  whiskey  toddy.  Ole 
mammy  know  how  many  times  she  put  Miss  Lucy  ter 
bed  case  she  '  too  poorly  '  ter  hoi'  up  her  head  !  an' 


16  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN    VIRGINIA. 

missy's  ma  she  cry  ober  her  an'  say,  l  Don'  eber  tell  o'  my 
pore  chile,  mammy  !'  an'l  neber  will ;  but  she  am  de 
mos'  agr'vatin'  chile  dat  I  eber  raised,  dat  she  am  1" 
She  took  cake  and  wine  to  the  stranger,  with  this  mes 
sage  :  "Miss  Lucy  am  poorly  in  bed,  an'  hopes  yer'll  'scuse 
her,  an'  bids  me  serve  ye  wid  debest  in  de  house.  Miss 
Lucyhab  mighty  poor  spells  mos' ly  ! — (Contrary  ones  !)" 
she  muttered.  ("  I  done  hope  de  poultice '11  dry  so  de 
freckles  '11  show  wuss'n  eber  !") 


II. 

SIMEON    BARSTOW. 

"  WALL,  yes,  I  told  Malviny  I  ruther  guessed  you'd 
haul  in  by  Saturday." 

"  But  I  wrote  you  a  week  ago  what  day  1  should  be 
here,"  said  Marian,  coldly. 

"  "Wall,  it's  quite  a  stretch  to  the  deepo,  as  you've 
found  out,  I  presume.  I  hain't  been  down  latterly  to 
see  if  there  was  any  mail.  Did  you  bring  any  along  ?" 

She  ignored  his  question.  "  Doesn't  Mr.  Jones  pay 
you  for  coming  for  me  ?' '  she  inquired.  She  had  con 
ceived  an  intense  dislike  to  the  insolent  arrogance  of  the 
man. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  he  does.  And  I'll  get  precisely  as  much 
for  coming  this  distance  as  if  I  went  the  whole  figger, 
you  see."  His  laugh  was  even  more  irritating  than  his 
speech.  "I'm  troubled  with  a  cough;  runs  in  the 


SIMEON"    BARSTOW.  17 

Barstow  family  ;  all  goes  with  consumption,  Had  it  f  r 
years  'fore  I  ever  thought  of  movin'  to  ole  Virginny. 
That's  what  made  me  pull  up  stakes  and  come.  Folks 
said  I  wouldn't  live  till  spring,  and  I  up  an'  put.  That 
was  two  year  ago  come  March,  and  I'm  alive  an'  kickin' 
yit."  .:  ,. 

Simeon  was  tall,  attenuated,  and  he  stooped.  His 
hair  was  gray  and  stood  out  from  his  pinched  features  as 
if  antagonistic  in  every  point.  His  hooked  nose  stood 
over  his  thin  lips  like  a  vulture  guarding  its  prey.  His 
eyes  were  small  and  of  a  steely  blue,  and  overhung  by 
shaggy  eyebrows.  He  was  argumentative  with  every 
one  except  his  wife,  and  he  keenly  relished  a  wordy 
combat.  Malviny's  was  the  superior  force  in  the  domes 
tic  world,  and  he  was  wise  to  recognize  and  yield  it. 

"  Him  done  sot  up  ter  be  a  power  in  de  Ian'  !' '  "  He 
sartain  suah  c'n  talk  !"  "  He  t'ink  he  know  heaps,  but 
I  donno,  I  donno  !"  These  were  the  impressions  of  his 
unlettered  colored  brethren.  As  for  the  white  men  of 
the  better  class,  socially  they  ignored  him,  and  politically 
they  laughed  at  him  while  seeking  to  use  him.  Their 
blunt  directness  of  speech  was  no  match  for  his  taciturn 
shrewdness.  He  was  unsparing  of  ironical  reminiscence, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  all  he  had  ever  read  about  Southern 
institutions  and  character  had  clung  to  his  memory  to  bo 
used  now  as  occasion  demanded.  And,  in  turn,  he 
solaced  his  solitude  by  ridiculing  all  the  ways  and  cus 
toms  of  this  Southern  land  ;  he  was  an  alien  even  at  his 
own  fireside. 

That  "  fireside"  was  an  eighty-acre  tract  of  the  vast 
estate  of  "  Fairy  Wood,"  now  broken  into  portions  to 
suit  settlers.  A  colony  of  Hollanders  flourished  in  one 
corner,  with  a  church  of  their  own  christened  New 
Holland  ;  but  it  could  never  have  seemed  to  them  in  the 


18  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER    IJST    VIRGINIA. 

least  like  fatherland.  Here  and  there  were  ten -acre 
farmsteads  of  negroes,  who  cultivated  their  own  bits  of 
property  and  pillaged  from  the  large  plantations  enough 
to  keep  soul  and  body  together  until  the  next  season's 
"  craps." 

The  Barstow  house  had  been  hastily  put  together  of 
unseasoned  poplar — only  upright  boards  without  insido 
plaster  or  outside  battens  to  render  it  comfortable.  And 
the  first  summer's  heat  put  spaces  between  them, 
through  which  one  could  peep,  and  through  which  the 
winter  winds  rushed,  whistling  with  wild  delight.  As 
yet  it  was  warm  enough,  for  the  sunny  days  lingered 
lovingly  ;  and  Mrs.  "  Malviny"  had  a  liberal  store  of 
faded  patchwork  quilts,  the  relics  of  other  days — now 
sadly  reminiscent  to  all  who  would  listen — with  which 
she  tapestried  the  one  apartment  when  the  need  thereof 
came. 

Miss  Marian  was  to  have  the  room  overhead,  reached 
by  a  ladder  from  the  room  below,  and  shared  by  the 
daughter  of  the  house.  There  \vas  no  door  to  it,  but 
domestic  tapestry,  in  the  shape  of  brilliant  yellow  sun 
flowers  on  a  green  groundwork,  guarded  the  portal. 

Step  forth,  Mrs.  Malvina,  as  Miss  Marian  saw  you  on 
her  arrival  at  your  home  !  tall,  bony,  sinewy,  straight, 
swift  in  her  movements,  with  good-sized  fists,  which  had 
a  knack  of  unexpectedly  doubling  and  being  shaken  to 
emphasize  her  statements  ;  eyes  of  pale  gray  with  an  in 
quisitive  gleam,  and  brows  wearing  an  habitual  frown. 
The  mouth  looked  as  if  its  missing  teeth  must  have  been 
lost  in  too  eager  combat.  The  thin  lips  were  perpetually 
working,  sucked  into  the  toothless  chasms,  or  pressing 
firmly  together.  A  string  of  gold  beads,  much  dented, 
her  only  splendor,  never  left  her  neck.  Once  a  week 
she  "  yanked  the  frizzles/ ?  as  she  phrased  it,  out  of  her 


SIMEON    BARSTOW.  19 

yellowish-^ray  hair,  wliicli  at  all  other  times  seemed  alto 
gether  unruly.  In  a  broken-nosed  crock  she  saved  the 
remnants  of  each  day's  tea-steeping  to  use  as  hair  oil  for 
this  periodic  toilet. 

Mrs.  Malvina  would  have  vented  her  scorn  in  loud 
laughter  at  sight  of  tinger-nails  stained  with  henna  ;  yet 
she  accomplished  a  somewhat  dissimilar  effect  by  orna 
menting  her  own  nails  with  the  dough  adhering  from 
vigorous  moulding  of  wheaten  loaves.  They  had  a  some 
what  ghastly  effect  on  strangers.  Calicoes  of  the 
flowered  patterns  were  her  delight,  and  she  boasted  of  an 
"  alpacy"  gown  which  had  seen  better  days.  Shoes  she 
utterly  abominated  and  entirely  did  without,  except  in 
the  coldest  winter  days  wrhen  she  went  forth  to  feed  the 
cattle. 

A  born  worker  was  Mrs.  Malvina,  doing  both  the  in 
door  and  out-door  work  without  a  thought  of  protest  or 
remonstrance.  Of  ((  housen  stuff"  she  had  but  little, 
but  she  made  that  little  "  do."  And  when  all  her  in 
door  "  chores"  were  over  in  the  summer  she  "  minded 
the  cows,"  picked  sumac  to  sell  at  the  nearest  "  store," 
and  dewberries  to  dry  for  winter  use  in  the  family,  and 
attended  to  everybody's  business  far  and  near  unless 
especially  told  to  desist. 

u  The  mortal  suz  !  be  you  the  boarder  ?  Well,  when 
I  see  the  superintendent  I'm  a  goin'  t'  have  it  out  with 
him,"  shaking  her  fist,  to  Marian' s  utter  dismay.  "  He 
said  he'd  engaged  an  old  maid,  older' n  I  was,  t'  rastle 
with  these  colored  brains  and  try  t'  drive  some  sense 
through  them  !  I  told  him  I  didn't  allow  no  one  t'  be 
near  me  older' n  I  am,  an'  he  laughed  an'  said  '  I'd  see.' 
Why,  you  ain't  in  your  twentieth  year,  be  you  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  smiled  Marian,  "  I  am  twenty-five." 

"  You  don't  look  it  then  !"     And  with  head  a  little 


20  A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

on  one  side,  and  hands  resting  on  her  hips,  she  deliber 
ately  surveyed  the  New  England  girl.  "  I  guess,  Sim 
Basto,  that  any  one  of  the  "Virginny  girls  I've  seen 
would  gladly  swop  off  with  Miss  Marun.  Why,  they're 
yeller  as  saffron  or  dusky  as  some  o'  their  servants.  An' 
they're  forever  a  poulticin'  with  corn-meal  to  try  an' 
look  delicut  !  The  mortal  suz  !  if  I  hed  a  gal  so  rotten 
silly  as  that  I'd  pitch  her  up  t'  a  barn-beam  an'  let  her 
swing  !" 

Simeon  smiled  grimly,  and  deftly  pushed  a  liberal  por 
tion  of  tobacco  within  one  wrinkled  cheek,  the  while  he 
furtively  eyed  the  newcomer.  A  pretty  enough  picture 
she  made,  looking  around  her  with  amused  glances. 
The  peach-blossom  cheeks,  full  red  lips,  eyes  of  deepest 
blue,  auburn  curls,  were  a  common  enough  sight  among 
the  Northern  mountains. 

"  The  mortal  suz  !  Here,  Stellur  Jane,  you  fly  round 
now,  like  a  hen  with  her  head  cut  off,  an'  set  the  table  ! 
I  guess  you  must  be  consid'rable  cravin',  Marun  ! 
Hain't  had  nothin'  senceyesetfootin  this  neighborhood, 
I  bet  !  Git  out  the  flowin'  mul'b'ry  dishes,  sis,  an'  you 
may's  well  git  out  a  table-cloth  too  !  I  don't  gen'rally 
use  'em,  fr  't  makes  a  sight  o'  washin'.  I  tell  Sim  a 
woman  c'n  pretty  gen'rally  find  a  plenty  t'  do  most  any 
where' s  she's  dropped.  Take  her  up  'n  ab'loon  an'  drop 
her  from  the  clouds  an'  she'll  flax  round  the  minute  she 
touches  the  earth — but  this  is  the  beatingest  place  t'  git 
fore-handed  I  ever  did  see  !  We  come  fr'm  c  old  Onta'  ;' 
born  an'  brought  up  there,  an'  I  love  it  !  1  love  the 
very  sand  on  the  shore  !  I  tell  Sim  I  never  will  feel  t' 
home  in  Virginny,  never  !  I  wouldn't  live  here  all  my 
days,  not  if  they  was  t'  give  me  the  hull  county  !  No, 
not  if  it  was  paved  with  greenbacks  as  thick  as  oak 
leaves  !'' 


SIMEON   BARSTOW.  21 

Miss  Marian  drew  away  a  little  from  the  accentuating 
fists.  Mr.  Barstow  had  a  "coughing  spell,"  which 
diverted  his  irrepressible  better  half. 

"  There,  Sim  !  you  opened  your  mouth,  I  bet,  an'  let 
the  raw  air  in,  coming  home.  Didn't  he  now,  Marun  ? 
(I  can't  Miss  ye  !  seems  's  if  I'd  allers  fellowshiped 
ye  !)  Sim  will  gab  when  he  knows  it's  the  death  o' 
him  !"  Simeon  smiled  grimly,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Stellur  Jane's  turned  fifteen.  She  ain't  brought  up 
to  do  much  ;  I  let  her  putter  round  pretty  much  as  she 
pleases.  She's  a  dabster  at  piecin'  quilts  though  !  I  do 
b'lieve  she  ruther  do  that  than  t'  eat  when  hungry.  I 
tell  her  it's  better  t'  be  ready  an'  not  go,  than  t'  go  an' 
not  be  ready,  an'  so  she's  a  saltin'  down  in  the  blue  chist 
over  there.  She's  got  all  the  patterns  we've  ever  heerd 
on  'cept  one — the  lone  star  of  Texas — though  what  on 
earth  one  star  can  do  on  a  bed  quilt  1  can't  imagine,  can 
you?1' 

"  No.  Where  is  your  daughter  going,  that  she  is 
making  all  these  quilts  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  mortal  suz  !  why,  ready  t'  go  oif,  t'  be  sure  ; 
t'  get  married,  ye  know  !" 

"  There,  Miss  Stone,"  interposed  Simeon  from  the 
rocking-chair  (the  only  one,  and  sacred  to  Simeon's  use), 
"  if  ye  start  Malviny  off  on  that  tack  she  won't  think  t' 
give  ye  any  supper  to-night.  That's  Malviny's  weak 
p'int." 

66  An'  what's  yours,  Sim  Basto  ?  I'm  sure  I  can't 
pick  out  one  when  you've  got  nigh  on  to  a  hundred/' 
retorted  Malviny,  who  felt  herself  extinguished. 

u  I  heard  as  how  Percy  Darnell  was  t1  have  a 
shuckin'  t' -night  ;  wants  t'  git  his  corn  out  the  way 
'fore  Christmas  ;  not  a  blamed  nigger  '11  do  a  stroke  o' 
work  Christmas  week,  f'r  themselves  nor  nobody 


22  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

else,"  remarked  the  host,  as  the  silence  grew  too  oppres 
sive. 

"  Jinsy  said  she  was  goin'  and  Goodman  too.  "Wall, 
np  in  old  Onta'  we  do  differently,"  remarked  his  wife. 

"  Did  you  ever  live  near  Lake  Ontario,  Miss  Stone  ?" 
asked  Simeon. 

"No,  indeed  !  I  belong  to  the  Bay  State  !" 

"  Oh,  yo're  a  Down-East  Yankee,  he  ye  ?"  laughed 
Mrs.  Malvina.  u  "Wall,  y'll  find  it  hard  hoein'  y'r  row 
down  here,  I  ruther  fear.  B't  here's  a  cup  o'  old  Bohee, 
an'  we'll  drink  t'  y'r  good  luck.  I  will  have  my  cup 
o'  tea,  1  tell  Sim.  if  1  go  'thout  ev'rything  else.  Sim 
can  set  an'  chaw  t'bacco,  an'  I  s'pose  he  gits  some  com 
fort  from  5t." 

"  1  get  comfort  from  reading,  at  all  events,"  put  in 
Simeon,  "  and  I  notice  what  looks  like  the  New  York 
Tribune  sticking  out  of  Miss  Stone's  satchel.  I'm  glad 
she  takes  it  ;  it's  so  long  since  I  have  seen  a  copy  I 
sha'n't  know  how  t'  act.  An'  1  sha'n't  stir  till  I've  read 
it  every  word." 


111. 

SHUCKING   COEN   BY   MOONLIGHT. 

IT  was  a  merry  scene  on  the  old  plantation.  All  the 
day  the  carts  had  been  busy  hauling  the  corn  to  the 
granary.  At  nightfall  the  workers  gathered  in  twos  and 
threes,  singing  as  they  trooped  along,  anticipating  the 
night's  revelry.  Indoors  Miss  Lucy  entertained  a  few 


SHUCKING   CORN   BY   MOONLIGHT.  23 

friends.  The  moon  rose  early  and  revealed  a  pictur 
esque  scene,  and  the  work  progressed  bravely.  Cesar 
Peachy  led  the  singing  : 

"  Eighteen  hunner  an'  anoder  makes  one, 
An'  now  my  journey  am  jus'  begun  ! 
Eighteen  hunner  an'  anoder  makes  two, 
De  Lord  tole  Moses  what  ter  do  ! 
Eighteen  hunner  an'  anoder  makes  free, 
De  Lord  done  set  de  pris'nor  free  ! 
Eighteen  hunner  an'  anoder  makes  four, 
De  Lord  done  open  heben's  do' ! 
Eighteen  hunner  an'  anoder  makes  five, 
De  Lord  done  turn  de  dead  ter  life  ! 
Eighteen  hunner  an'  anoder  makes  six, 
Ole  Pharo's  army  got  'n  a  fix  ! 
Eighteen  hunner  an'  anoder  makes  seben, 
De  Lord  done  ring  de  bells  ob  heben  ! 
Eighteen  hunner  an'  anoder  makes  eight, 
De  Lord  done  open  heben's  gate  ! 
Eighteen  hunner  an'  anoder  makes  nine, 
De  Lord  done  turn  de  water  ter  wine  ! 
Eighteen  hunner  an'  anoder  makes  ten, 
Dan'll  got  'n  de  lion's  den  ! 
Eighteen  hunner  an'  anoder  makes  'leben, 
De  Lord  say  de  rachus  '11  git  t'  heben  ! " 

"An*  dar's  whar  we'm  boun'  f'r  t' go  suah," 
declared  Goodman  Jones.  "  Dar  now,  you  Pete,  you 
done  drink  de  whiskey  all  up— de  hull  galPn  !  Sakes  ! 
what  a  mouth  him  hab  f'r  good  whiskey  !"  And  the  fun 
grew  loud  and  boisterous. 

After  midnight,  when  the  corn  was  all  housed  safely, 
the  banjo  was  tuned  afresh,  and  the  whole  band  of  men 
and  women  formed  a  line,  singing  as  they  marched  three 
times  around  the  big  pile  of  "  shucks"  whereon  Jim, 
the  banjo-player,  was  enthroned.  Then  he  descended 
and  took  the  lead  to  "the  house,"  playing  while  the 
singers  fairly  shouted  : 


24  A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

"  Oh,  it's  down  yere  on  de  ole  plantation, 

A  shuckin'  ob  de  corn, 
T"  make  de  ash-cake  'long  wid  bac'n, 

A  fry  in'  in  de  morn  ! 
De  corn-pone  !  de  blessed  corn-pone  ! 
Of  all  de  breads  de  corn-bread 

Am  de  sweetes'  an'  de  bes'  ! 
Of  all  de  cakes  de  ash-cake 

F'r  certain  am  de  bes'  ! " 

Round  the  house  three  times,  singing,  while  the 
revellers  inside  come  out  in  merry  groups  to  see  them. 

And  then  they  gathered  on  the  back  veranda,  where 
bread  and  meat  and  whiskey  were  served — too  much  of 
the  latter — and  where  Mr.  Percy  Darnell  and  a  few 
compatriots  partook  too  freely,  alas  !  of  the  latter  re 
freshment,  and  grew  hilarious  with  songs  and  dancing. 

"  We  are  the  chivalry  of  the  world  !"  loudly  asserted 
the  host,  speaking  rather  thickly.  "  Don't  all  nations 
concede  our  claim  ?  didn't  the  war  prove  it  ?  It  took — 
well  how  many  years  was  it,  Hector,  for  the  Yanks  to 
use  us  up  ?" 

u  Oh,  hush  up,  now  !  you  don't  mean  to  go  over  all 
that  ground  again.  Time's  too  precious  !  I  say,  Percy, 
old  boy, pass  along  that  demijohn  ;  and  sing, Cesar, sing!" 

"  Oh,  I  say  !  Cesar  '11  be  going  t'  school,  now  his 
teacher's  arrived.  1  ought  to  have  said  i  skule,'  1 
suppose,  to  speak  properly  ;"  and  Percy  grew  very  bois 
terous. 

"  Well  now,  Cesar,  give  us  the  multiplication  table  in 
rhyme.  Sure  enough  !  you  ain't  had  time  to  learn  it 
yet  !  that's  what  Yankee  babies  learn  before  they  do 
their  letters." 

"  Yes,  mas'r,"  nodded  Cesar,  submissively.  "  Come, 
boys,  I  reckon  it's  time  t'  tote  ourselves  home,"  he 
added  to  the  group  of  blacks,  who  rose  at  once. 


SHUCKING    CORN    BY   MOONLIGHT.  25 

"  And  suppose  we  interview  the  new  arrival  ?"  sug 
gested  Jim  Dick  Mason.  "  We  should  not  neglect  our 
duty  to  the  stranger  within  our  gates.  Come,  boys,  trot 
out  the  horses  !  Christmas  is  coming  with  jolly  good 
fun  ;  let's  begin  it  a  few  days  beforehand." 

So  the  horses  came  up,  and  the  gay  "  chivalry"  rode 
off  mirthfully. 

"I  does  hope,"  said  Cesar  soberly,  as  he  trudged 
away,  "  dat  dose  no  'count  rattle-brains  won't  go  f'r  t' 
skeer  de  blessed  life  outen  our  teacher  !" 

"  An'  she  so  gentle-like  !"  added  Jinsy,  wrathfully. 
"le'dkill  'ernef  dey  does!" 

66  Oh,  hush,  now  !  dey  don't  mean  t'  go  nigh  her  !  dey 
jess  talk  dat  foolish  racket  ter  skeer  us  niggers,  dey  hate 
our  school  so  !"  and  Goodman  strode  away. 

Miss  Marian  was  awakened  from  a  dream  of  her  native 
mountains  by  Mrs.  Malvina's  harsh  tones  : 

"  Mortal  suz  !  how  you  do  sleep,  Marun  !  Hain't  you 
heerd  all  this  hollerin'  an'  singin'  an'  caterwaulin' — 
Sim  calls  it — outside  ?  Well,  you'll  tide  over  when 
Gabriel's  trump  sounds,  an'  be  the  one  passenger  left 
behind." 

Marian  was  awake  now  without  doubt  ;  she  listened 
and  heard  her  name  called  repeatedly.  "  Come  !  we 
merely  wish  to  offer  you,  the  nigger  teacher,  a  moon 
light  serenade  !" 

In  a  few  moments  Miss  Marian  was  dressed,  and  she 
cautiously  descended  the  ladder. 

lt  Mortal  suz  !  you  ain't  goiii'  t'  open  the  door  ?  why 
they'll  pile  right  in  i  I  hain't  no  faith  in  seceshers  any 
way.  Don't,  Marun  !  Just  tell  me  what  t'  say  an'  I'll 
scream  it  through  the  winder.  1  ain't  'fraid  of  a  hull 
township  of  'em  !  You  mizrable  mean  seceshers,  t'  come 
disturbing  folks  at  midnight  !  Ef  any  one  on  ye'll  step 


26  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

up  here  I'll  show  ye  the  stuff  Northern  women  are  made 
of  !" 

"  Oh,  please  !  please,  Mrs.  Barstow  !"  entreated  the 
gentle  voice  at  the  door,  which  opened  ;  she  stood 
calmly  surveying  the  group  of  young  men. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?  I  have  come  in  answer  to  your 
call,"  she  slowly  said,  and  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  low 
and  sweet,  one  or  two  slunk  away  behind  the  house. 

"  We  merely  called  to  pay  our  respects,  an'  to  see  if 
you  had  horns,"  said  one,  with  a  loud  laugh,  looking 
around  for  the  plaudits  of  his  companions,  and  staring 
amazedly  to  find  none.  Every  one  had  vanished,  leaving 
him  to  do  battle  alone. 

"You  can  take  a  good  look  at  me,"  said  Marian 
coolly — "  at  the  stranger  within  thy  gates.  And  1 
will  now  wish  you  good-night  !" 

And  now  Jinsy  came  rushing  in  with  revengeful 
gleams  in  her  black  eyes. 

"  I  declar',  honey,  if  dey  had  done  laid  one  little 
finger  on  ye,  dar  'd  been  a  fight  suah  !" 

"I'll  tell  both  of  you  fightin'  women  one  thing," 
spake  up  the  wise  man  Simeon  from  his  bed  in  the 
corner  :  "  one  word  from  Miss  Stone  is  more  to  the  pur 
pose  than  a  pitched  battle  from  both  of  you.  As  f 'r 
Malviny,  she's  allers  too  ready—it  spiles  her  quarrel 
beforehand." 


CHRISTMAS.  27 

1Y. 

CHEISTMAS. 

THE  snow  was  softly  falling  and  little  brown  birds 
fluttering  through  the  laden  tree  boughs.  Jinsy  and  her 
seven  children  rushed  in  with  faces  shining  like  Mrs. 
Barstow's  stove  in  one  corner. 

"  Chris'mas  gif  !  Chris'mas  gif'  to  eb'ry  one  !"  said 
all  together,  as  is  the  invariable  salutation  on  Christmas 
morning. 

"  The  mortal  suz  !"  Mrs.  Barstow  looked  up  from  her 
kneading  of  bread.  "  I  wish  the  hull  keboodle  on  ye  a 
merry  Christmas,  I'm  sure  ;  but  you'll  have  that  any 
way." 

"  We'se  boun'  f 'r  t'  hab  a  good  time,  suah.  Dey  has 
a  supper  at  Crocker  Rob'son's  t'-night.  Me  an'  Good 
man  are  bid  t'  it.  We  has  a  fest'val  at  de  church 
t'-morrer  ebenin'  t'  help  de  church  along.  An'  1  done 
declar'  !  dar's  more  frolics  goin'  all  de  week  dan  we 
knows  what  t'  do  with."  Jinsy's  face  wore  its  happiest 
smile. 

"  1  don't  make  no  account  of  Christmas  more'n  any 
other  day,"  slowly  observed  Simeon  between  his  cough 
ing  spells. 

"  'Deed  you  don't,  den  !"  assented  Aunt  Jinsy,  some 
what  ironically.  "  Chris'mas  comes  b't  once  a  year,  an' 
I'm  boun'  f'r  t'  git  a  little  good  time  den  t'  go  roun'  de 
res'  ob  de  year." 

"  You  don't  make  no  'count  o'  nothin',  Sim  Basto," 
observed  his  wife,  giving  her  loaves  a  vigorous  pricking, 
and  shoving  them  into  the  waiting  oven.  "  Well,  Jinsy, 


28  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

ye  look  so  fine  Goodman  won't  know  ye  !"  as  Marian 
pinned  a  scarlet  bow  to  the  neck  of  her  gingham  gown. 
Marian  had  something  for  each  of  the  children  too,  in 
cluding  the  baby  ;  they  shyly  grinned  and  murmured 
<k  Ta,  ta  !"  the  Virginia  form  of  "  Thank  you  !" 

"  And  what  a  nice  baby  it  is  !"  said  Marian. 

"  So  it  is,"  swiftly  put  in  Mrs.  Barstow.  "  But  it's 
name's  enough  t'  kill  it.  Such  a  cat  name  !  I  don't 
pretend  t'  pronounce  it  all  the  same  week." 

In  answer  to  Marian's  look  of  inquiry,  Jinsy  said, 
"  Her  name's  M'ria  Ann  Radikash  Kitty  Cuttydash,  but 
we  calls  her  jess  M'ria." 

"  And  here's  a  parcel  for  little  Jimmy,  and  I'm  com 
ing  to  sit  with  him  this  evening  while  you  are  gone," 
said  Marian. 

u  Oh,  Miss  Maryon,  if  you  only  would  !  Him  can't  talk 
much,  he  bery  weak,  b't  he'll  love  t'  lie  an'  look  at 
ye  !" 

"  He  fails  !"  swiftly  pronounced  Mrs.  Malviny,  as 
she  flew  about  the  room,  "  doing  up  the  work."  "  1 
c'n  see  that  he  does,  every  day." 

"  I  dunno's  he  does  git  any  better,  Miss  Mar' yon,  I 
dunno's  he's  any  wuss.  Him's  de  curiouses'  sick  I  eber 
did  see.  'Pears  like  nothin'  do  him  no  good  nohow. 
De  whole  lairs  been  t'  see  him,  an'  I've  tried  all  de 
yarbs  I  c'n  hear  of.  Dinah  Peachy  says  he's  cunj'rd  ! 
an'  1  knowed  it  long  'nough  'fore  she  did." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  There's  no  such  thing  !" 
Marian's  blue  eyes  open  wide. 

"  Oh,  yis  he  be,  Miss  Mar'yon  !  he  not  common  sick,  he 
done  waste  away  so.  1  done  know  who  did  it  too.  Sally 
Jonson,  she  been  done  sot  agin  me  fr  a  long  spell. 
She's  a  rapid  sort  o'  woman  an'  dare  do  any  thin'.  B't 
me  an'  she'll  square  off  evin  yit." 


CHRISTMAS.  29 

"  But  what  did  she  do  f"  persisted  Marian. 

u  Oh,  eb'ry  one  knows  she  am  a  witch.  She 
b' witched  Sam  Barrel's  wife,  an'  she  died  in  awful 
miYry.  'Twas  eight  year  ago,  an'  her  fun'ral  sermon 
ain't  preached  jit.  I  dunno  's  't  eber  will  be." 

"  Sally's  at  her  old  tricks,  is  she  ?"  inquired  Simeon. 

"  Dat  de  truf  !  B't  I'll  b'  even  wid  her  yit  if  Jimmy 
done  die  !'' 

u  Are  you  a  witch  also  ?"  solemnly  inquired  Marian. 

66  Bless  you,  honey  !  I  declar'  !"  Aunt  Jinsy  burst 
into  a  laugh.  "  Eb'rybody  ain't  gifted  dat  ar'  way 
'zackly.  She's  a  sinner-woman,  an'  I  done  b'long  to  de 
church.  I  come  through  years  ago.  I  don't  hoi'  t'  no 
sech  sinful  doin's  as  dem  ;  b!t  dere  am  sech  t'ings  f 'r 
certain  suah  !" 

"  Stick  to  it,  Jinsy,"  drawled  Simeon  ironically, 
"  and  you'll  live  the  longer.  But  that  ain't  what  ails 
Jimmy.5' 

"What  den?"  Jinsy  flashed  like  a  flame.  "  Ef  ye 
knows  why  don't  ye  tell  what '11  help  him  ?  He  am  a 
pore,  miz'ble  boy.  What  1  knows  an'  hab  seen  dat  I 
hoi'  to.!" 

"  The  mortal  suz  !  my  bread 'srisin'  like  all  possessed! 
Mebbe  it's  a  ketchin'  complaint,"  says  Mrs.  Barstow. 

"  When  Betsy  Barrel  was  tooken  she  turned  all  white 
an'  as  wrinkly  as  a  dried  'simmon.  Dem  ain't  all  de 
signs  neither.  1  knows  a  heap  more  'n  I  tell  !" 

66  That's  more  than  I  c'n  say  !"  briskly  put  in  Mrs. 
Barstow.  "  Sim,  where's  sis  gone  ?  I  want  -her  t' 
watch  the  bread  bake  while  I  feed  the  calves. " 

She  went  to  the  door  and  shouted,  "  Stellar  !  Stellar 
Jane  Basto  !  come  right  in  !  I  want  ye.  I'm  goin'  t' 
make  some  dried-apple  fritters  f'r  dinner,  an'  you  must 
flax  roun'  an'  give  me  a  lift.  Take  holt  now  as  if  you 


30  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

meant  it  !     Walk  right   up  like  a  chicken  to  a  dough- 
dish  !" 

"  Up  in  York  State  they  used  to  call  our  daughter 
Estella  downright  lazy, "  quoth  Simeon,  eying  his  busy 
wife  with  a  comical  grimace. 

"  I  don't  care  a  copper  what  they  said  ;  I'll  stick  t' 
old  Onta'  !  O  the  beautifullest  place  !  1  loved  to  walk 
in  the  sand,  it  felt  so  warm  t'  my  feet  !  1  know  I 
'umor  Stellur  too  much,  Marun  !  I  never  had  no  luck 
raisin'  girls  ;  we  lost  four,  an'  sis  is  my  last  one,  an'  I 
mean  t'  'umor  her  as  much  an'  no  more'ii  I  please." 

"  Suit  yourself,  Malviny,  and  you'll  suit  me,"  grimly 
responded  Simeon. 

"Well,  my  boys  are  likely  chaps  as  ever  trod  shoe- 
leather  ;  they're  settled  up  there  roun'  the  old  lake. 
Dreadful  opposed  t'  our  movin'  they  was,  wa'n't  they, 
Sim  ?  But  Sim  says,  what's  the  use  o'  dyin'  here,  when 
I  c'n  live  som'ers  else  ?  Lake  winds  are  dreadful  tryiii', 
'specially  in  spring.  I  allers  noticed  that  if  any  of  the 
Basto  folks  pulled  through  May  they  worried  through 
the  rest  of  the  year  well  enough. 

"  Sech  a  time  as  we  had  a  movin'  !  We  had  a  good 
team  t'  start  with,  an'  we  thought  'twould  be  cheaper  t' 
drive  down  an'  take  our  chances  on  the  way,  so  we 
stowed  away  a  good  many  little  notions  under  the  seat, 
an'  put  bedding  in.  Ye  see  the  way  we  managed  was 
this  :  we  put  up  f  r  the  nights  at  some  farm  or  other,  an' 
as  they  was  most  gen' rally  log  housen,  there  wa'n't  b't 
two  rooms,  one  above  an'  one  b'low,  an'  we  stowed  our 
selves  in  some  corner.  The  mortal  suz  !  of  all  the  poor 
livin'  I  ever  see  in  my  born  days  I  saw  the  most  then. 
The  women  didn't  seem  t'  know  how  t'  do.  There  !" 
she  suddenly  broke  off  the  recital  with  a  laugh.  "  I 
gen'rally  c'ntrived  t'  look  t'  my  own  bread  an'  butter. 


CHRISTMAS.  31 

Sometimes  1  buttered  it  on  both  sides.  In  one  place  I 
went  up  stairs  t'  sleep  an'  the  woman  give  me  this  t'  go 
t'  bed  with."  She  held  up  a  tiny  iron  candlestick. 
"  An'  nex'  mornin'  I  tucked  it  inter  my  wagon  traps. 
It's  come  mortal  handy  too,  I  tell  ye  !" 

"  There,  Miss  Stone,  Malviny's  told  ye  the  worst  side 
of  her.  She  don't  believe  in  seemin'  better  than  she 
is  ;  she  goes  the  other  way.  Her  chief  weakness  though 
is  in  her  fighting  propensities.  She  itches  t'  lick  ev'ry 
man  she  meets,"  and  Simeon  laughed  sharply. 

66  You  shut  up,  Sim  Basto  !  I  ain't  'fraid  o'  you  nor 
any  other  man  ;  wa'n't  a  man  in  old  Onta'  1  couldn't 
make  walk  Spanish.  Fact  is,  I  never  have  put  forth  my 
full  strength  yit.  Didn't  I  manage  old  sozzle-head 
Peters,  though  ?"  she  chuckled.  "  '  Look  here,  Dave 
Peters,' I  said,  i  I'll  shake  ye  in  two  if  y'  don't  stop 
putt-in'  on  me  ;'  an'  1  up  an'  did  it,  too,  till  he  hollered 
like  a  dog.  An'  that's  the  way  t'  serve  'em,  Marun  !" 
The  fists  doubled  and  shook,  to  the  impending  ruin  of 
the  fritters  fizzling  in  the  hot  fat. 

"  There's  Jinsy  now  !  she's  a  spitfire  too,"  drawled 
Simeon,  who  had  long  been  hoping  for  the  diversion  of 
a  pitched  battle  between  the  women. 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  'fraid  o'  nobody.  An'  I  minds  my  own 
business  !"  promptly  retorted  Jinsy,  furtively  eying  her 
own  huge  hands. 

Such  a  pitiful  little  brown  face,  with  eyes  of  a  softer 
color  than  his  skin  !  so  wasted  and  hopeless  and  helpless 
he  looked  to  the  gentle  teacher  that  night  !  His  bed  was 
but  "  a  pallet"  of  straw  and  rags,  with  a  ragged  frag 
ment  of  quilt  for  covering,  laid  on  the  damp  earth  floor. 
The  other  children  squatted  before  the  big  fireplace. 

66  Oh,  how  pleasant  and   cheery   this  fire    is  I"  cried 


32  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN  VIRGINIA. 

Marian,  as  the  flames  leaped  and  the  sparks  flew  in 
showers  up  the  chimney.  "  I  so  love  an  open  fire  !  I 
wish  Mrs.  Barstow  had  a  fireplace  !" 

"  I  done  d'spise  dat  ar  ole  stove-pipe  a  stickin'  outen 
de  ruff,"  quoth  Nancy,  the  eldest  girl.  "  A  sort  o' 
make-b'lieve  chimly  !" 

It  seemed  to  Marian,  as  she  sat  by  the  fire  and  told  the 
children  stories,  and  sang  to  them  a  Christmas  carol,  that 
she  had  never  been  so  happy  in  all  her  life. 

What  a  revelation  of  beauty  she  was  to  those  simple 
black  children  !  never  had  a  voice  sounded  so  like  music 
to  them,  except,  perhaps,  in  their  dreams.  And  the 
vision  of  suffering  on  the  rude  pallet  was  only  a  source  of 
peace  to  her  :  she  felt  sure  that  the  suffering  was  even 
now  past  ;  she  felt  sure  that  little  Jimmy  was  nearer 
home  than  his  mother  supposed. 

"  Better  so,"  thought  Marian.  "  The  waiting  angels 
will  gather  him  lovingly  in  their  arms  and  bear  him  unto 
the  green  pastures. " 

His  eyes  never  left  Miss  Marian.  Large  and  solemn, 
they  seemed  to  her  excited  fancy  to  be  already  looking 
upon  the  eternal  verities. 

She  spoke  to  him  from  time  to  time,  looked  at  him 
chiefly  when  telling  her  stories  ;  the  children  laughed, 
but  Jimmy's  face  remained  immovable. 

She  offered  him  food  ;  he  shook  his  head.  She  had 
made  lemonade  for  the  children,  and  she  held  the  cup  to 
his  lips,  but  he  motioned  it  away.  Even  the  sudden  re 
ports  of  the  "  pop-crackers,"  with  which  the  little  blacks 
always  celebrate  the  holidays,  failed  to  arouse  an  interest. 

"What  do  you  like  best,  Jimmy?"  she  whispered, 
stooping  to  catch  his  faint  reply,  "  To  hear  ye  sing." 

And  then  she  sang  all  the  songs  and  hymns  she  knew, 
holding  his  wasted  ringers  in  her  soft  palms.  Jimmy's 


JOHH   LADY.  33 

face  grew  radiant  with  pleasure — softer  gleams  played 
in  the  liquid  depths  of  those  wonderful  eyes. 

"  Oh  !"  sobbed  Jinsy,  stealing  swiftly  in  at  midnight. 
"  I  done  been  out  door  dis  long  time,  Goodman  an'  me 
has  !  we  done  'fraid  ter  come  in  bold  like,  it  all  seemed 
so  r'ligious.  An'  all  of  a  suddin  I  was  tookeii  wid  a 
creepin'  ober  me,  dat  mabbe  my  Jimmy  boy  was  done 
gone  home.  Dat's  what  made  me  cry.  1'se  mighty 
sorry  dat  I  'sturbed  de  meetin'  !" 

"It  is  time  it  was  broken  up,"  smiled  Marian. 
"  Here  is  little  Kitty  Cuttydash,  went  to  sleep  long  ago  ! 
I  am  coming  every  day  while  Christmas  lasts  to  sing  to 
you,  little  Jimmy  !" 

He  made  a  motion  to  speak,  and  she  put  her  ears  close 
to  his  lips.  "  I  done  hope  it  '11  las'  f'reber  !"  he  whis 
pered,  smiling. 

The  Christmas  days  wore  away  amid  feasting  and  visit 
ing  and  mirthfulness  on  every  side.  But  as  the  last 
hours  sped  and  the  old  year  was  merged  in  the  new, 
little  Jimmy  went  home. 


V. 

JOHN    LADY. 

"  THE  mortal  suz  !  Marun,  Marun  !  do  come  t'  the 
door  an'  feast  your  lonesome  eyes  on  this  comin'  caravan. 
It's  wuth  a  journey  t'  Yirginny  t'  see.  There  now  !  ye 
won't  see  sech  a  crittur  as  that  'f  you  s'arch  all  Massa 
chusetts,  an'  that's  gospel  truth  !  As  f'r  sis,  she  boohoo'd 
right  out  an'  run  !" 


34  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER  IK  VIRGINIA. 

Marian's  solemn  face  lightened  with  a  smile  as  the 
fantastic  figure  approached,  seated  on  a  mule  which  re 
joiced  in  the  well-earned  name  of  "  Stubborn  Jack." 
And  this  was  the  manner  of  his  progress  : 

A  few  paces  of  sedate  slowness,  then  a  sudden  halt  of 
the  fore  feet  and  an  elevation  of  the  hind  feet  which 
caused  his  rider  to  execute  a  series  of  movements  re 
sembling  repeated  bowings.  Some  curious  object 
depended  from  one  hand,  which  spun  around  as  if  seek 
ing  to  escape  from  the  detaining  fingers.  Then  a  sudden 
onward  progress  and  another  arrest. 

"  The  mortal  suz  !  be  you  a  man  or  be  you  a  woman  ?" 
shouted  Mrs.  Barstow  as  the  figure  came  within  hailing 
distance.  There  was  no  response,  but  the  figure  blithely 
dismounted,  leading  Stubborn  Jack  to  a  willow-oak  tree 
and  securely  tying  him.  He  then  made  his  way  back  to 
the  doorway. 

"  Why,  it's  John  Lady  !  Ask  him  in,  Malviny,  t'  git 
warm  !"  Simeon  looked  briefly  up  from  the  columns  of 
the  Tribune  with  a  nod.  "  Pll  answer  your  question, 
Malviny.  He's  a  young  man,  one  of  the  old  Stetten 
Wood  slaves." 

"  An'  my  name's  John  Tomson.  I  cook  fer  Missy 
Lucy.  She  done  send  dis  yer  ober  f  r  yer  t'  buy,  as  she 
hedn't  no  use  fr  it,  'n  she  fought 's  how  bein'  Norf'n 
folks  y'd  like  fr  f  liab  a  turk'y  fr  dinner  ;  mighty  fine 
gobbler  him  be,  suah  !" 

"  What  made  ye  wring  its  neck  'fore  ye  brought  it  ?" 
abruptly  questioned  Mrs.  Barstow.  "  I  likes  f  buy  live 
things  if  I  buy  'em,"  she  sententiously  added. 

John  appeared  embarrassed  at  ,  her  directness  ;  he 
giggled,  holding  one  hand  to  his  mouth  to  hide  its 
enormous  cavern  ;  "  for  all  the  world  like  a  woman," 
declared  Mrs.  Barstow  in  an  audible  aside  to  Marian. 


JOHtf   LADY.  35 

He  was  truly  a  picturesque  figure,  and  justified  the 
Yankee  girl's  stare.  He  wore  trousers  of  gray  home 
spun,  with  low,  laced  women's  shoes.  A  woman's 
basque  of  dark  "  Yirginny  cloth,"  pointed  in  the  back 
and  trimmed  with  a  ruffle  of  the  same,  adorned  the  upper 
part  of  his  person,  being  padded  liberally  about  the 
shoulders  to  add  fulness  to  his  lean  contour  ;  his  neck 
was  finished  by  a  wide  white  collar  and  a  ribbon  bow  ;  a 
similar  bow  with  longer  ends  was  pinned  to  the  middle 
of  his  basque  behind.  Gilt  ear-rings  dangled  with  every 
movement  of  his  head,  and  an  immense  "  waterfall," 
surmounted  by  a  net,  topped  by  a  prodigious  bow,  was 
his  striking  coiffure.  All  around  his  low  and  narrow 
forehead  the  woolly  frizzles  hung,  in  the  most  engaging 
form  of  u  bangs"  imaginable.  An  ordinary  man's  hat  of 
black  felt  completed  his  costume,  if  we  except  a  large  red 
cotton  kerchief  peeping  from  one  trouser-pocket. 

On  Sundays  in  summer,  wrhen  John  went  to  church, 
lie  was  provided  with  the  additional  articles  of  a  flowered 
cambric  parasol  and  a  "  shut-up  fan,"  which  latter 
article  he  used  assiduously. 

A  few  idiosyncrasies  of  John  Lady,  as  he  was  univer 
sally  called,  may  be  briefly  stated.  In  his  childhood 
John  was  happy  only  with  his  dolls,  of  which  he  had 
legion.  The  greater  part  were  merely  corn-cobs  dressed 
in  what  gaudy  rags  he  could  beg  of  all  the  cabins  in  "  the 
quarters."  All  the  hours  the  child  could  secure  from 
the  numberless  errands  his  mammy  invented  to  keep  him 
busy  were  given  to  his  pathetic  row  of  babies,  safely 
stowed  away  in  an  old  feeding-trough.  It  mattered  not 
that  the  other  little  "  darkies"  ridiculed  his  display  of 
maternal  solicitude  :  t(  Go  'long  wid  ye  !  I  heap  rudder 
play  wid  de  geurls  !  1'se  boun'  f'r  t'  take  keer  my 
fam'ly  !  Boys  am  no  'count  no  how  !" 


36  A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

And  when  old  enough  to  help  mammy  in  the  making 
of  his  clothing  he  was  decisive  about  their  fashion,  com 
bining  both  masculine  and  feminine  articles  of  attire  to 
his  own  entire  satisfaction. 

u  Had  any  distemper  'mong  your  fowls  over  there  ?" 
abruptly  inquired  Mrs.  Malviny,  as  she  deliberately 
washed  some  white  yams  for  roasting. 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am  !  aheap  of  't  !  Miss  Lucy  done  los' 
mos'  all  her  chick1  ns.  Dis  yer  ole  feller  was  a  pimp'n 
roun'  all  las'  week  ;  him  was  de  las'  one  Miss  Lucy  hab, 
an'  sh'  done  hate  f'r  t'  see  him  waste  'way,  so  datshe  tell 
me  t'  tote  him  off'n  de  plantation.  She  reckin  sh'  won' 
lost  him  entirely  like  de  res'." 

"  Your  Miss  Lucy's  too  cute  !  it's  jest  that  'bout  her 
that's  apt  t'  spile,  even  if  'tis  cold  weather,"  senten- 
tiously  observed  Mrs.  Barstow,  as  she  arranged  her  pota 
toes  in  even  rows  in  the  oven.  "  And  what  did  she 
9spect  t'  gitfr  this  old  Methuselah  ?  Turkey  f'r  din 
ner?  the  mortal  suz  !  I  don't  want  t'  eat  Noah's  ark 
though  !  Do  ye  think  I'm  a  buzzard  ?  does  Miss  Lucy 
think  so?"  shaking  her  fists  so  closely  before  John's 
astonished  face  that  he  jumped  in  terror  for  his  hat  to 
effect  an  escape. 

She  followed  him  closely.  Thinking  to  propitiate  the 
household  deity,  John  spluttered  forth  :  "  1  done  tole 
missy  dat  it  am  a  sin  t'  sell  what  she  wouldn't  go  f'r  t' 
eat  herself  ;  but  missy  feel  so  pow' f ul  pore  dese  yer  days 
she  am  'bleeged  f  r  t'  do  de  bes'  she  kin.  She  say  dat 
Norf'n  folks  wa'n't  so  pow' fill  p'tic'lar  'bout  dar  eatins, 
an'  ef  ye  didn't  hww  dat  it  died  o'  'stemper,  why  she 
reck'n'd  'twouldii't  hurt  ye.  She  'spect  dat  de  flesh 
taste  jess  as  good.  I  dunno  !  I  do  jess  as  young  missy 
say."' 

"  Wuss  an'  wuss  !"  roared   the  now  thoroughly  irate 


JOHN    LADY.  37 

woman.  "  It  died,  did  it  ?  Poor  tiling  !  I  can  find  it 
in  me  t'  feel  compassion  f  r  some  creeturs,  b't  your 
missy,  as  you  call  her,  isn't  one  of  'em  !  Poor,  is  she  ? 
she  hain't  half  poor  'nough  yit  t'  make  her  decent. 
Tell  her  so  !  Poverty  would  make  a  hog  gentle  ;  she 
ain't  poor.  Tell  her  Northern  folks  don't  eat  carrun  ! 
Tell  her  she  ain't  cut  her  eye-teeth  yit,  fr  all  she  thinks 
herself  so  smart  !  Tell  her  srnartweed  tea  is  a  dreadful 
stim'lant  t'  the  intellect  !  Tell  herMalviny  Basto  c'n  tell 
her  more  in  six  minutes  than  she  ever  heard  afore  in  all 
her  life!  Tell  her-" 

But  John  Lady  had  fairly  got  away  from  her,  and  as 
she  shouted  from  the  doorway  he  was  swiftly  untying 
his  risky  steed. 

"  Look  a-here,  you  manakin,  you've  got  t'  tell  me 
what  y'  want  fr  your  deceased  old  flamingo,  there  ! 
Come  !  mabbe  I'll  buy  it  after  all,  jess  to  'commodate. 
Sim  Basto,  git  out  your  pocketbook  !  I  do  love  t'  'com 
modate  these  Southern  people  !  Beats  all  how  much  I 
think  o'  them  !  I  hain't  f'rgot  the  fust  year  I  came  here. 
1  didn't  know  's  much  then  's  I  do  now,  an'  your  Miss 
Lucy  sent  word  she'd  sell  me  some  lard.  Wall,  I 
wanted  some  an'  1  let  Jinsy  go  over  t'  git  it.  She  took 
the  money  t'  pay  fr  't  too,  Northern  style.  Miss 
Lucy  couldn't  make  change,  she  sent  word,  b't  she'd 
send  me  some  eggs  f  r  change  that  \veek.  An'  I  waited 
an'  waited,  an'  six  weeks  went  roun'  an'  no  sign  of  an 
egg  nor  nothin' .  An'  I  told  Sim  I  wouldn't  put  up  with 
't  nohow,  so  I  up  an'  went  mysilf  t'  see  how  't  was. 

"  The  mortal  suz  !  i  Why,  I  sent  you  some  turnip- 
seed  fr  change,  Mis'  Basto  ;  I  thought  you'd  want  t' 
plant  an'  raise  turnips,  o'  course  !'  I  declar'  for  't,  I 
was  so  beat  1  come  awray  without  sayin'  any  thin'.  Such 
managiri'  as  that  I  never  see  afore  in  all  my  born  days  !" 


38  A  YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

"  Tell  him  you  didn't  get  the  turnip- seed  after  all. 
Do,  Malviny  !"  Simeon  put  in  slyly. 

"  Oh,  yls,  Sim  Basto,  you  an'  Marun  there  c'n  set  an' 
laugh  an'  see  y'r  wife  put  upon  !  But  there'll  come  a 
day  o'  reckonin' !  put  that  in  your  pipe  an'  smoke  it  ! 

"  Oh,  wait  a  minnit  !"  she  called  after  John  Lady,  who 
was  vainly  endeavoring  to  urge  Stubborn  Jack  along. 
"  How  much,  now,  '11  you  take  f'r  your  dried  speci 
men — the  lowest  price,  ye  know  ?" 

u  Missy  said  as  how  I'se  t'  ask  a  dollar  'n  a  ha'f  at 
fust,  an'  then,  if  you  wouldn't  give  dat,  drap  t'  a  dollar 
'n  a  quarter." 

"  Glad  1  found  out.  I  shouldn't  a  slep'  a  wink 
t' -night  if  1  hadn't  !"  Malviny  shut  the  door  with  a  bang 
that  made  Stubborn  Jack  respond  with  ludicrous 
eagerness  to  his  rider's  vigorous  "  Git  up  now,  you 
mule  !  git  up  strong  !  you  Jack  !" 

Marian,  peeping  laughingly  from  the  window,  saw 
the  bow-ends  streaming  from  the  basque,  and  heard  the 
fainter  "  Git  up,  now,  you  mule  !"  as  both  figures 
vanished  in  the  forest. 


VI. 


MRS.    BARSTOW'S    SPIRITUAL    ADVISER. 

BUT  while  the  teacher's  eyes  were  straining  for  the 
last  glimpse  of  John  Lady  she  made  a  discovery  of  an 
other  impending  visit. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Barstow,  this  is  a  day  of  masquerading,  I 


MRS.    BARSTOW'S   SPIRITUAL   ADVISER.  39 

believe  ;  here  surely  comes  Dom  Pedro,  or  some  other 
worthy  Spanish  knight." 

"  Le'  me  git  my  spec's  on  !  I  c'n  pick  out  a  flea  on  a 
yeller  dog  then  !  Oh,  yis  !  h'  hum  !  Sim  !  Sim  !  1  do 
hope  you'll  manage  t'  let  that  newspaper  alone  while 
the  parson  stays.  I  wonder  what  started  him  up  t' 
come  !  Fact  is,  I've  been  here  s'  long  I'd  quite  gi'n  up 
his  ever  comin'  !  An'  here  all  of  a  sudd'n  he  jumps  on 
us  with  a  past'ral  call  !" 

"  Better  late  than  never  !"  smiled  Marian. 

"  I  don't  know  'bout  that.  I'd  jest  as  lieves,  now, 
he  wouldn't  a  come.  I'm  a  church-member  up  in  old 
Onta',  in  good  an' reg'lar  standin'  too;  b't  I've  never 
took  no  letter  t'  jine  here,  f'r  it  seems  t'  me  the 
churches  here  are  as  cur'us  as  the  rest  of  the  folks  :  don't 
none  on  'em  seem  t'  care  an  old  copper  'bout  Northern 
folks,  no  way.  I've  noticed  one  thing  though,  Marun  — 
an'  you'll  see  it  too  'f  you  live  's  long  's  1  have — they'll 
rake  the  last  cent  out  o'  ye  'f  ye  once  give  'em  a  foot 
hold  !  I've  been  t'  church  c'nsid'rable  here.  I  was 
always  used  t'  goiii'  t'  hum,  and  I  ain't  quite  broke 
myself  yit  of  the  habit  ;  'spect  I  shall,  though,  if  I  live 
here  all  lay  days,  fr  I  must  say  I  don't  fellership  all 
their  ways.  They're  not  our  folks'  ways,  not  by  a  long 
shot  ! 

"  There's  Sim,  now  !  he  takes  religion  dreadful  easy, 
as  he  does  ev'ry thin'  else.  The  Basto's  all  do.  Not  one 
on  'em  ever  got  converted,  as  ever  I  heerd  on  !" 

"Wall,  Malviny,  they've  done  some  other  foolish 
things — plenty  of  '<ena,  in  fact  !"  drawled  Simeon,  with 
an  ironical  smile.  •"  Mai  viny's  folks  now  are  right  the 
other  way.  They're  all  pious  (real  shouting  Methodists), 
and  they  never  do  notJiAji'  £ke  that's  foolish." 
^  "  Yis,  Sim  Basto,  Fan  jr'lagious,  1  hope  !  I've  g'in  up 


40  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

expectin'  grace  '11  ever  reach  your  heart.  I'm  r'ligious, 
Marun,  Vt  'tain't  struck  in  t'  hurt  none  !"  She  finished 
with  a  profound  sigh. 

Mrs.  Barstow  had  a  habit  of  sighing  without  any  ap 
parent  cause.  She  sighed  while  peeling  the  potatoes  for 
dinner  ;  while. stirring  and  beating  up  her  feather  bed 
("  laying  it"  was  her  expressive  phrase)  ;  while  listening 
to  the  teakettle's  preparatory  supper-song  ;  while  setting 
the  sponge  at  evening  for  the  morrow's  bread  ;  and  after 
all  her  reminiscent  relations  the  sighs  were  frequent  and 
of  various  depths — a  sort  of  melancholy  refrain  of  her 
energetic  days. 

"  That,  Miss  Stone,  is  the  Rev.  Clayton  Armstead  ! 
Malviny  never  will  get  t'  tell  you  his  name,"  quietly  in 
terrupted  Simeon.  "  He's  a  rigid  Presbyterian  !"  as  a 
tall,  lank  figure,  sitting  soldierly  erect,  and  wearing  a 
military-looking  cloak,  his  legs  protected  from  muddy 
splashes  by  leathern  leggings  buttoned  above  the  knees, 
and  wearing  cruel-looking  spurs,  rode  up  to  the  door 
step. 

11  Olio-ali  !     Oho-ah  !"   he  shouted. 

"  That's  the  \7irginny  bugle-call  !"  sighed  Mrs.  Bar- 
stow,  as  she  "slicked  up"  the  room  preparatory  to 
granting  entrance. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Stone,  it's  the  true  Southern  style  of  call 
ing  on  your  acquaintance.  One  would  suppose  that  the 
1  quality  folks,'  as  Jinsy  styles  them,  would  naturally 
exhibit  different  manners  from  the  low-downers,"  began 
Simeon. 

"  O-ah-h,  Mr.  Barstow  !"  came  again,  in  a  resound 
ing  whoop. 

"  B't  I  don't  see  a  mite  o'  difference,"  swiftly  inter 
jected  Malviny  ;  "  an'  I've  watched  for  't  c'nsid'rable 
spry.  I  mos'ly  let  'em  holler,  an'  take  it  out  in 


MllS.    I3ARSTOW'S   SPIRITUAL   ADVISER.  41 

liollerin'  !  As  f 'r  sis,  ye  can't  git  lier  t'  lift  the  latcli  f  r 
one  of  'em.  B't,  seein'  it's  the  parson,  I'll  strain  a 
p'int  !"  She  flung  open  the  door. 

"  I  began  to  fear  you  were  all  away  from  home, 
madam,"  said  the  visitor  in  his  most  stately  tones. 

"Do  tell  'f  ye  did  !  Wall,  hitch  yer  hoss  t'  the 
wilier-oak  yonder,  an'  come  right  in  !  might 's  well  have 
done  it  at  first.  Wait  !  I  c'n  do  it  for  ye.  Mr.  Basto 
is  ruther  weakly,  an''  he  don't  flax  roun'  in  the  cold 
inore'n  he  c'n  help." 

The  minister  stared,  but  declined  her  proffered  help, 
and  fastened  his  steed  as  directed.  He  then  followed 
her  into  the  house. 

Mrs.  Barstow  entered  at  once  upon  her  preparations 
for  dinner,  pausing  occasionally  to  fling  a  remark  into 
the  midst  of  the  quiet  conversation  across  the  room  ;  her 
remarks  were  usually  of  the  bombshell  order,  causing 
laughter  or  astonishment  or  dread,  and  sometimes  the 
three  commingled. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Mr.  Ar instead  was  saying,  half-regret- 
fully,  to  his  host,  who  had  become  more  animated  than 
Marian  had  before  seen  him  ;  "  it  is  the  prettiest  flag  in 
the  world  !  1  can  admit  that  now,  though  it's  not  so 
many  years  ago  since  I  was  fighting  against  it  with  all 
my  might." 

"  All  your  puny  might  !"  asserted  his  hostess,  snap 
ping  to  the  oven-door.  "  Wall,  it  relieved  your  feelin's 
some,  1  s'pose,  an'  it  didn't  hurt  Uncle  Sam  a  grain." 

Mr.  Ar  instead  flushed.  "  1  don't  know  about  that, 
madam.  I  think  we  did  kill  off  a  heap — a  right  smart 
Leap  of  Uncle  Sam's  men  !"  then  followed  a  string  of 
illustrations  from  various  battle-fields. 

"  In  these  days  it  should  be  matter  of  regret  rather 
than  of  pride,  1  think,"  softly  mused  Marian. 


42  A  YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

"  As  to  that,  madam,  1  am  sure  I  speak  for  the  whole 
South  when  I  speak  for  myself  (we  are  identical),  we 
regret  nothing.  Were  it  to  do  over  again  I  should  do 
exactly  as  I  did  before.  Not  that  we  expect  ever  to  take 
up  arms  again  :  we  gave  up  in  good  faith  and  mean  to 
abide  by  the  result.  But,  madam,  I  regret  nothing.  I 
am  proud,  and  more  than  proud  of  our  martial  achieve 
ments  !" 

"  'Pride  goeth  b'fore  a  fall  Is"  sighed  Mrs.  Bar- 
stow. 

"Then  you  don't  believe  in  moral  progression?" 
asked  Simeon. 

"  When  one's  cause  is  absolutely  right,  progression  is 
not  possible,  sir  !  Our  cause  did  not  succeed,  it  is  true, 
but  it  was  only  because  our  strength  was  not  equal  to 
our  ambition  ;  it  was  a  mighty  big  thing  we  attempted, 
sir,  this  Southern  kentry  !  I  am  a  South  C'rlinyan  and 
Southern  to  the  backbone/'  He  tucked  a  huge  tobacco 
quid  into  one  lean  cheek — as  sallow  as  the  juice  he  so 
generously  bestowed  on  Mrs.  Barstow's  clean  floor — and 
shut  his  bloodless  lips  together  with  a  defiant  snap. 

"  Our  neighbor  over  toward  the  court-house — the  one 
who  sold  me  this  land — used  t'  git  monstrous  huffy 
whenever  the  war  was  alluded  to,"  and  Simeon  smiled 
slyly  as  he  addressed  his  remark  to  Marian.  "  He  said 
he  wished  that  South  Carliny  and  Massachusetts  had  a 
been  sunk  in  the  sea  ages  ago,  an'  then  there  never  'd 
a-been  110  war.  Well,  here  are  two  very  able  representa 
tives  from  those  States  ;  I  wonder  how  Mr.  Jefferson's 
plan  would  suit  you  two  ?" 

"  It  would  suit  one  well  enough,  if  Massachusetts  had 
gone  first,"  loudly  laughed  the  ''backbone"  minister. 
"  She  always  was  a  pestilent  State." 

"  Thank    you,  sir  !"    coldly    rejoined   Miss  Marian, 


MRS.    BARSTOW'S   SPIRITUAL   ADVISER.  43 

while  Simeon  rubbed  hie  hand  gleefully  under  cover  of 
Miss  Marian's  newspaper  at  the  impending  conflict. 

The  sloe-black  eyes  of  the  Carolinian  slowly  fastened 
on  the  large  blue  orbs  of  the  Yankee  school-teacher,  and 
there  they  rested  in  a  prolonged  stare.  She  did  not 
flinch  from  it.  Even  the  dull  perceptions  of  Simeon 
Barstow  were  roused  to  an  unwonted  glow  of  admiration 
for  the  noble  and  beautiful  and  indignant  face  calmly 
returning  the  apostolic  gentleman's  stare. 

Mrs.  Malvina  deftly  averted  the  crisis  :  "  Set  up  !  set 
up,  friends  !  I've  always  noticed  one  thing,  folks  ain't 
apt  t'  quarrel  on  a  full  stomach.  Stellur  Jane,  you  whet 
up  that  carvin'  knife  an'  cut  up  the  spar' -rib  !  Sis  is  a 
master-hand  at  carvin'.  There's  only  one  dish  she  won't 
have  noth'n  t'  do  with,  and  that's  chit'lins.  Heard  s' 
much  'bout  their  bein'  good,  thinks  me  I'll  try  my  hand 
at  'em,  an'  lo  !  an'  behold  !  not  a  mortal  soul  would 
touch  it.  B't  Jinsy  thought  'twas  a  great  godsend." 

"  Chitterlings  is  a  mighty  good  dish  !  a  mighty  good 
dish  !"  emphatically  pronounced  the  guest.  "  When 
properly  prepared,"  he  added. 

"  The  mortal  suz  !  1  thought  1  knew  how  t'  cook 
properly.  B't  p'raps  1  c'nsate  too  much,"  began  the 
offended  hostess,  but,  happening  to  catch  the  twinkle  in 
Simeon's  eyes,  she  further  refrained  ;  she  was  not  going 
to  advance  his  malicious  pleasures. 

"  1  should  like  to  know  about  this  wonderful  dish.  I 
never  before  heard  of  it,"  said  Marian. 

"It's  hog's  insides,  that's  all  ;  b'iled  soft  and  salvy,'' 
spake  up  quiet  Stella  Jane. 

"  I've  heard  that  the  Northern  people  were  somewhat 
peculiar  about  their  eating,"  slowly  rejoined  Mr. 
Armstead. 

"  Well,  yes  ;  they  don't  seem  t'  take  no  great  t'  hog 


44  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN  VIRGINIA. 

an'  hominy,  if  they  c'n  git  any  thin'  else  !  I  dunno  but 
what  they  be  p'culiar,  viewed  from  Southern  lights," 
soberly  replied  Mrs.  Barstow,  passing  around  generous 
sections  of  deliciously  fragrant  mince-pie. 

"  The  pudding  is  very  nice  !"  commented  the 
minister.  "  This  is  an  unknown  dish  here.  I  wish  it 
were  not,"  he  laughed,  and  this  appreciation  of  her  culi 
nary  efforts  completely  restored  the  hostess's  good 
humor. 

While  dinner  was  thus  harmoniously  progressing  Jinsy 
entered  bearing  a  letter  to  Marian,  who  welcomed  the 
interruption  as  affording  her  a  means  of  escape.  Throw 
ing  on  her  warm  shawl,  she  paced  slowly  to  the  school- 
house,  Jinsy  following  and  earnestly  talking  : 

"  I  didn't  mean  t'  giv'  it  ter  ye  'fore  'em,"  she  ex 
plained.  "  I  know  Mis'  Basto  won't  giv'  ye  no  peace 
till  she  finds  out  who  sent  it  an'  what's  in  it.  Y'  can't 
stan'  out  agin'  her.  I  tell  you,  Miss  Maryon,  I  never  seed 
sech  a  change  in  nobody  as  in  Mr.  Percy.  He  looked  so 
'umble-like  he'd  creep 'n  de  dust  'fore  ye  'f  ye'd  let  him. 
I  done  suah  he  am  pow'ful  sorry  he  done  dat.  He  am  a 
gen'leman,  Miss  Maryon  !" 

Marian  smiled  into  the  earnest  face.  "  But  I  don't 
wish  any  one  to  creep  in  the  dust,  my  good  Jinsy.  I 
have  nothing  laid  up  against  him  ;  tell  him  so  from  me. 
1  can  send  him  no  other  answer.  Be  sure  to  tell  him  so. 

"  It  seems  to  me  this  is  a  day  of  surprises,"  she 
finished,  as  if  talking  to  herself. 

As  she  went  along  she  could  hear  Mrs.  Barstow  calling 
after  her  from  the  doorway  : 

•  "Harun!  Marun  !  the  minister  's  goin'  t'  have 
fam'ly  worship  !  Come  back  !  't  won't  take  long  !" 
But  Marian  gave  no  sign  of  hearing  or  heeding. 

At  which  Aunt  Jinsy  chuckled,  watching  her   open 


MRS.    BARSTOW'S    SPIRITUAL   ADVISER.  45 

the  school-house  door.  "  Dat  ar  gal  am  got  roots  in  her 
f'r  sartain  suah  !  Don'  b'lieve  she  done  keer  one  straw 
whether  Mis'  Basto  done  pleased  or  not  !  Here  she  hab 
got  a  lob-letter  from  Mas'r  Percy,  an'  o'  coorse  she  done 
want  ter  read  it  ag'in.  She  am  one  ob  Jinsy's  sort,  she 
am!" 

"  1  should  like  to  borrow  these  newspapers  to  read,  if 
you  have  no  objection,"  said  the  minister,  as  he  extended 
his  hand  to  Simeon  for  a  final  "  good  day  !"  "It  is 
seldom  I  see  a  Northern  newspaper." 

"  Only  two  objections,"  dryly  responded  the  host. 
"  One  is  they  belong  t'  Miss  Stone,  and  the  other  is  that 
they  are  of  infidel  tendencies,  and  will  therefore  do  you 
great  harm." 

"  Sim  !  Sim  Basto  !"  Mrs.  Malviny's  voice  had  a 
warning  ring  to  it. 

The  minister  laughed.  "I'll  take  both  risks  cheer 
fully  !"  And  reaching  out  his  long  arm  he  gathered  the 
papers  and  pocketed  them. 

As  he  trotted  along  the  forest  roads,  he  also  mused 
concerning  Marian  : 

"  That  Yankee  woman  possesses  unusual  force  of 
character.  I  should  be  half  afraid  of  her  were  I  to  see 
much  of  her  ;  but,  thank  Heaven,  there  is  no  likelihood 
of  this.  ...  1  must  drop  in  to  take  supper  with  Miss 
Darnell.  Ah,  there  is  a  true  woman  !  the  purely 
Southern  type  !  What  delicacy  of  manner  and  looks  ! 
what  subdued  fervor  in  her  dark  eyes  !  what  romantic 
pallor  overspreads  her  historic  face  !  like — like —  Well, 
here  I  am  !" 

That  evening  his  talk  still  ran  concerning  the  Yankee 
girl,  but  now  he  had  two  eager  listeners. 

"  1  would  help  the  Yankees,  I  think"  quoth  Miss 
Lucy  gayly  ;  "if  they  were  like  to  starve  or  suffer 


46  A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER'  LN"   VIRGINIA. 

greatly  in  any  way,  I  mean.  I  hope  I'm  Christian 
enough  to  do  that.  I'd  help  bury  them  if  they  died.  But 
I  confess  that's  all  the  intercourse  I  want  with  them." 

Percy  made  no  rejoinder. 

"  That's  so  !"  heartily  assented  the  Rev.  Clayton 
Armstead,  "  the  backbone"  Southerner.  "  I  agree  with 
you,  Miss  Lucy — 1  think  the  Yankees  are  perfectly  hor 
rid  !  !" 


VII. 


CESAR  PEACHY  was  pulling  the  blades  and  cutting  the 
tops  from  the  ripening  corn.  The  August  sun  was  dry 
ing  the  greenness  and  killing  all  vegetable  life  ;  and  it 
was  hard  also  on  the  human  toilers  in  the  field.  His 
black  face,  seamed  and  wrinkled  with  the  burden  of 
ninety  years,  glistened  in  the  sunshine.  But  life  did 
not  appear  to  be  a  burden  to  Uncle  Cesar  ;  if  he  was 
proud  of  any  earthly  thing  it  was  of  his  many  years. 

"  I'm  mos'  a  hundred,  ole  Mas'r  be  praised  !  He 
done  been  berry  good  to  me  sence  1  come  t 'rough  ;  an' 
I'm  a  ripenin'  f'r  His  kingdom. 

"  '  Oh,  yes,  my  Lord,  my  father  ought  to  be  dar, 

Koll,  Jurdan,  roll ! 
A  sittin'  in  de  kingdom  f'r  to  hear  when  Jurdan  roll, 

Roll,  Jurdan,  roll ! 
Oh,  yes,  my  Lord,  my  mother  ought  to  be  dar, 

Eoll,  Jurdan,  roll  ! 
A  lis'nin'  for  my  chariot  wheels, 

Eoll,  Jurdan,  roil ! '  ' 


CESAR'S  CABIN".  47 

Tall  and  lean  and  bent  in  figure,  clad  in  ragged  home 
spun,  happy  and  merry,  always  singing,  and  always 
trusting  to  a  higher  power — called  tenderly  and 
familiarly  (like  a  daily  living  presence)  "  Old  Master"  — 
the  many  mysteries  his  simple  mind  could  not  under 
stand. 

"  Sho  !  dis  yer  am  pow'ful  hot  ;  'pears  like  de  sun 
am  fire  hisself  a  rainin'  down  on  us  pore  folks." 

Cesar  paused  in  his  work  a  moment  and  glanced  up 
ward  half -fearfully.  Then  his  song  and  his  labor  began 
afresh  : 

"  'I  want  to  go  to  heben  when  I  die, 

Eoll,  Jurdan,  roll  ! 
If  ye'  can't  cross  Jurdan  ye  can't  go  roun', 

Boll,  Jurdan,  roll ! 
Sinner-folks  '11  be  swallowed  up, 

Boll,  Jurdan,  roll ! 
I  done  got  home,  rny  Lord  ! 

Boll,  Jurdan,  roll ! '  " 

An  under-current  of  pondering  over  various  worldly 
matters  while  his  spiritual  aspirations  flowed  mechani 
cally  from  his  lips,  presently  broke  in  disjointed  mutter- 
ings  : 

"  Dat  am  de  curiousest  t'ing  in  dis  world  !  "What  ole 
Mas'r  mean  when  Him  say,  '  De  pore  ye' 11  allers  hab, 
but  1'  in  done  gone  away  ! '  Reckon  he  couldn'  t  stan' 
it  no  longer  on  dis  yarth  : 

"  '  Oh,  yes,  my  Lord,  my  sister  ought  ter  be  dar, 

F'r  t'  hear  when  Jurdan  roll  1 
.My  brudder  ought  ter  be  dar — 

Yes,  my  Lord  !  t'  hear  thy  chariot  wheels, 
Boll,  Jurdan,  roll  I' 

Hi  !  de   sun  moughtn't  be  an  hour  high.     Dis  niggar 
got  t'  pull  dis  yer  row  'fore  sunset  suah.     What  fur  de 


48  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

rain  don't  come  and  fill  out  dese  nubbins  ?  de  drouth 
burn  de  sap  out'n  'nm.  Mighty  pore  craps  we  make  dis 
year  suah  ;  mighty  pore  'baccy  crap,  pore  corn  crap.  I 
respect  ole  Mas'r  knows  best  ;  if  we  observe  de  rain  an' 
de  shine  He'll  send  de  weather  f'r  onr  craps.  De  t'ing 
we  got  to  do  is  to  'serve  our  blessin's  an'  not  trouble 
'bout  de  rest.  Dis  is  toler'blegood  blade  fodder,  better 
'n  I  observe  suah." 

His  row  finished,  Cesar  mopped  his  brow  and  picked 
up  his  staff,  visions  of  a  tidy  cabin  with  hot  pones  await 
ing  him,  and  Dinah  smiling  a  welcome  from  the  doorstep 
brightening  his  way  thither. 

"  Dar  now  !  1  done  miss  dat  hare,  'mos'  hit  'em 
dough  !  Reckon  Dinah  'd  grin  how'dy  f'r  a  hare  f'r 
supper  !  Dargwinet'  be  apow'ful  sight  o'  ague  die  fall, 
allers  so  arter  such  hot,  dry  summer  as  dis  yer."  Uncle 
Cesar  shivered  in  anticipatory  conflicts  with  his  especial 
foe.  "  Seems  like  I'd  shake  my  pore  ole  bones  clean 
outen  der  flesh  sometimes.  But  den  if  I  does  I'll  get  to 
de  kingdom  all  de  sooner.  Ole  Mas'r  knows  best,  dat 
He  do  !" 

The  smell  of  frying  bacon  came  forth  to  make  Cesar 
hungry.  It  was  a  comfortable  home.  A  cow  looked 
round  at  the  sound  of  his  staff  on  the  hard  sand,  cleanly 
s\vept,  and  two  dogs  bounded  to  greet  him  ;  some 
guinea  fowl  strutted  and  sounded  discordant  cries  ;  a 
number  of  other  poultry  were  going  to  roost  in  the  tree- 
tops  and  lower  branches  of  the  nearest  trees. 

' '  Here,  you  Folly  !  you  Tige  !  git  out  dat  skillet  ! 
wish  you  done  burn  your  paw  to  last  foreber  !  a  nosin' 
roun'  so  ciggravatin'  like,"  exclaimed  Dinah,  raising  her 
head  from  a  bag  in  one  corner  wherein  the  precious 
wheaten  flour  was  kept  for  special  occasions,  her  ebony 
arms  powdered  white. 


CESAR'S  CABIN'.  49 

"  Why,  Dinah  !  hab  we  any  kin  come  ?"  asked  Cesar 
in  some  surprise.  "  I  sees  ye  making  up  some  Christ- 
dust  f'r  supper  !" 

(This  is  the  common  name  for  flour,  signifying  its 
rarity  in  the  daily  fare  ;  it  graces  the  Sunday  breakfast, 
but  "  John  Constant"  or  corn-meal  is  the  usual  week-day 
"  staff  of  life.") 

"  Yes,  dat  you  do,  ole  man  !  I  fought  it  would  be  a 
great  condition  to  our  supper  ;  you've  been  tol'ble  spry 
at  work  all  day,  an'  I  had  a  right  smart  chance  o' 
washin'  ;  wuss  part  is  de  totin'  it  to  de  house,  but  Miss 
Otely  got  no  boy  to  send  ft." 

The  cabin  rejoiced  in  a  floor.  Dinah  could  not  abide 
an  earth  floor,  "  'count  my  rheumatiz,"  and  there  was 
a  small  square,  called  a  window,  in  one  side,  with  a 
wooden  shutter  which  swung  on  leathern  hinges.  The 
door  with  its  latchet  was  closed  only  at  night — summer 
or  winter,  it  stood  always  open.  A  narrow  high  bedstead 
in  one  corner  rejoiced  in  a  feather  bed  made  up  high 
and  round,  with  a  bright  patch-work  quilt  atop.  This 
was  Aunt  Dinah's  glory  and  pride.  The  cabin  was 
whitewashed  inside  and  outside,  and  it  boasted  of  a 
rocking-chair ;  and  a  comfortable-looking  and  comely 
woman  was  the  ruler  of  this  humble  sphere.  Of  ample 
proportions,  good-natured,  and  energetic  beyond  all  rea 
sonable  requirements,  a  famous  cook  in  the  old  slavery 
days,  Aunt  Dinah's  chief  delight  now  was  in  retrospec 
tion  of  those  departed  glories  and  grandeurs.  "  'Sides, 
I  want'er  take  a  bit  to  Mis'  Crittenden  in  de  mornin'. 
Her  appetite's  pow'f  ul  pore  !  but  den  dey  jess  got  nuffin 
to  eat  ;  dat's  de  truf." 

"  Is  she  any  better?"  mechanically  asked  Cesar. 

"  I  reckon  she's  tireder  dan  eber  to-day — an'  she's  been 
tired  as  could  be  eber  sence  I  knowed  her.  1  misjudge 


50  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER    IN    VIRGINIA. 

she'll  be  sent  for  'fore  many  days,  Cesar.  How  'd  J 
know  ?  Oh,  I  can't  tell,  but  it's  in  de  air — so  mystiss 
like" — with  a  solemn  shake  of  her  woolly  head.  "  Now, 
dar's  Ky'lene — puff  !"  (she  blew  an  imaginary  feather 
in  the  air)  "  she's  jess  that.  How  white  folks  live  widout 
no  t'ings  to  eat,  no  clo's  t'  wear  ?" 

"  You  think  black  folks  c'n  stan'  it  !"  laughed  Cesar. 
"  But  1  dunno's  white  folks  feelin's  is  bery  diff  runt. 
T'  be  sure  clo's  is  a  great  condition  t'  good  livin',  an' 
other  t'ings  too — 'sides  the  Crittendens  is  pore  low  down 
trash  anyway  ;  dey  don't  feel  t'ings  like  quality  folks." 

u  Dat  dey  don't  !"  vigorously  assented  Dinah,  pound 
ing  her  biscuits  with  hearty  good-will.  "  Miss  Otely, 
now,  or  Miss  Betty  !  de  pore  chillern  couldn't  live  so  ; 
dey  was  raised  so  diffrunt.  Dey  t'ink  dey  see  hard 
times — sure  'nough  'tisn't  de  ole  times  when  Mas'r 
Peyton  and  Mistiss  Car' line  was  alive.  Cesar,  ole 
man,"  with  a  solemn  nod,  "  dem  Crittendens  hab  been 
'thout  meal  f'r  days,  Ry'lene  told  me." 

"  I  don't  see  how  dey  could  live  'thout  John  Con 
stant,"  cried  Cesar,  startled. 

"  Why  de  dog  cotched  a  hare  now  an'  den,  an'  dey 
got  a  few  cymlinst'  cook,  an'  most  days  dey  c'd  lay  hold 
on  a  few  turnups,  and  dey  pounded  out  some  meal 
final' v  from  some  nubbins.  Cesar,  I  done  has  the  bestest 
biscuits  sence  I  'gun  t'  use  Dover's  powders  to  raise 
'em  !  1'se  gwine  neber  t'  be  widout  it  ag'in  !  Lawful 
heart,  the  punishin'  1  had  in  slave  times  on  dis  same 
o'  count  !  'cause  if  de  leaven  too  old  de  light  bread 
wouldn't  rise  no  way.  I've  done  set  up  all  night  many 
a  time  to  hab  my  bread  ready  f'r  breakfast,  Mas'r 
Peyton  was  dat  p'tic'lar  !  f  Here,  Dinah,'  he  says  once, 
an'  he  looked  as  ef  he  could  eat  me,  dat  he  did  !  'D'ye 
see  dem  biscuit  ?  how  manv  are  dere  ? '  I  ses  twelve  as 


CESAR'S  CABI^.  51 


prompt,  f'r  I  done  count  'em  las'  t'ing  'fore  1  sent  'em 
t'  the  dinin'-room,  so  ef  dat  rascal  of  a  Jack,  de  waiter 
boy,  steal  'em  1  c'd  tell  f'r  sartain  who  took  'em. 
;  Twelve,  Mas'r  Peyton,'  I  says.  '  Well,  you  stan' 
where  I  c'n  see  you  swaller  ebery  one  ;  an'  don't  bring 
any  more  lead  f'r  us  t'  eat,  or  I'll  sell  ye  at  de  next 
auction  in  Richmond.'  An'  1  didn't  dare  deject,  fV  I 
knowed  Mas'r  Pey  ton  wa'  n'  t  ob  de  triflin'  sort.  But  dey 
tasted  like  lead  to  me  f  r  suah." 

"  Dinah  !  how  could  you  eat  twelve  biscuits  ?"  scepti 
cally  queried  Cesar,  as  he  watched  her  place  the  nicely 
moulded  lumps  within  the  bake-kettle,  cover  closely,  and 
heap  thereon  glowing  coals. 

"  I  dunno  how.  'Spect  de  Lord  mus'  a  holpt  old 
Dinah,  f  '  r  I  wasn1  1  tooken  sick  arterward,  but  I  couldn'  t 
abide  light  bread  for  months,  an'  to  dis  day  1  like  John 
Constant  best,  t'ank  Mas'r  Peyton  f'r  dat  !" 

u  1  don't,  den,"  muttered  Cesar  ;  "  but  1  don't  jedge 
him  : 

"  '  For  he  liab  gone  t'  judgment,  t'  judgment, 

Dey  all  nab  gone  t'  gather  aroun'  de  judgment  seat/  " 

sang  Cesar. 

"  Ef  only  I  had  knowed  about  de  lightsome  Dover's 
powders  I'd  saved  ole  Dinah  many  a  lash.  But  Mas'r 
Peyton  neber  meant  to  hurt  me  so  I  couldn't  sell,  so  1 
was  safe  '  nough  anyway  jess  keep  me  whar  I  ought  ter 
be.  I  wish  some  ob  der  young  ones  could  hab  de  same 
chance  ;  dey  am  sartin  sure  de  no  'countest  set  to 
work  I  eber  see." 

"  (  I  hid  b'hind  a  mountain, 

'Twas  dark,  I  could  not  see, 
I  call  to  Mas'r  Jesus, 

And  lo  !  He  set  me  free,'  " 

sang  Cesar,  meditatively. 


62  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

"  Dem  is  free  indeed,"  assented  Dinah,  as  she  un 
covered  the  kettle,  and  exposed  the  tempting  circle  of 
snowy  puffs.  "  Dar,  1'se  proud  ob  dein  !"  she  began  ; 
but  remembering  her  former  shortcomings  when  baking 
powders  were  unknown,  she  added  humbly,  "  Ole  Dinah 
can't  take  all  de  credit." 

The  two  plumpest  and  brownest-topped  were  quietly 
rolled  in  a  napkin  and  put  aside  for  her  neighbor.  It  is 
true  a  certain  condescension  was  apparent  in  her  manner, 
but  she  was  a  true  Samaritan,  and  would  not  have  seen 
even  a  dog  suffer  unrelieved.  "  Eb'rybody  can't  be 
quality  folks  !  An'  Miss  Otely  can't  do  f'r  dese  poor 
creeturs  like  1  can — stan's  t'  reason  she  can't.  She 
means  to  do  what  is  right,  but  she  don't  know  how." 

In  this  manner  Dinah  innocently  pledged  her  services 
as  substitute  for  the  charities  which  in  some  unreasoning 
fashion  she  felt  ought  to  emanate  from  "the  great 
house"  toward  these  poor  dependents  on  the  estate,  who 
rented  a  small  portion  of  the  large  plantation  to  keep 
soul  and  body  together. 


VIII. 


MRS.     CRITTENDEN    "GOES    HER    WAT." 

THAT  same  midday  sun  streamed  through  the  doorway 
of  a  log  cabin,  touching  the  "  noon  mark" — a  nail  driven, 
in  one  of  the  warped  floor-boards— and  even  resting  on 
the  pallid  face  upturned  wearily,  and  on  the  thin  hands 


MRS.    CRITTEKDEN    "  GOES    HER    WAY."  53 

which  feebly  brushed  away  importunate  flies  from  time 
to  time.  The  miserable  cabin,  with  the  clay  tumbling 
on  all  sides  from  the  spaces  between  the  logs,  and  the 
Jogs  rotting  away  in  places  and  "  settling"  into  a  leaning 
posture,  windowless,  its  chimney  outside  of  sticks  and 
logs  cemented  into  a  reluctant  companionship  with  a 
portion  of  the  surrounding  red  clay,  was  hidden  away  in 
the  Virginian  forest.  For  several  rods  around  the  door 
was  a  clearing  ;  not  a  vine,  or  flower,  or  rose-bush,  nor 
any  shrubbery  crept  up  to  redeem  the  bareness.  In  the 
wood-spaces  all  about  birds  were  singing  and  fluttering 
and  calling  to  the  midday  silence. 

Here  and  there  a  sumac  gleamed  red  among  the  pines 
on  the  outer  edge — a  sort  of  woodland  fringe  to  the 
dense  background  of  oak,  white  poplars,  and  the  stately 
foliage  of  tulip  trees,  shining  like  satin. 

Well-worn  foot-paths  ran  through  the  underbrush,  in 
tersecting  and  branching  off  in  all  directions  to  neighbor 
ing  cabins.  Sometimes  a  line  of  smoke  was  visible  from 
one  point  of  view — Cesar  Peachy's  cabin— and  the  bark 
ing  of  many  dogs  often  resounded  through  the  "  dim 
aisles."  In  these  moonlight  nights  the  woods  were  alive 
with  opossum  and  coon  hunters,  both  human  and  canine; 
the  baying  of  hounds,  the  whistle  and  characteristic  cries 
of  the  negroes,  and  the  exciting  chase  and  capture  made 
a  picturesque  scene. 

No  one  was  visible,  to-day,  in  these  outlying  corn 
fields.  A  young  girl  of  fifteen  lounged  in  the  doorway, 
as  if  longing  to  go  out,  yet  held  back  by  some  undefined 
restraint — not  quite  a  sense  of  duty,  nor  yet  of  fear. 
She  was  not  pretty,  nor  yet  was  she  plain  ;  she  was  too 
listless  to  be  even  interesting.  As  her  mother  moaned 
she  turned  occasionally  with  a  stare  of  utter  helpless 
ness. 


54  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

The  little  room  was  utterly  bare  of  comforts.  A  bed 
stead  of  some  sort  there  was,  with  straw  in  an  uneven 
mass,  and  a  ragged  quilt  spread  over  all,  under  which  a 
woman  lay,  not  old  in  years,  but  her  face  wrinkled  and 
aged  with  pain.  She  had  been  a  merry  girl  once,  but  it 
seemed  ages  since  she  had  forced  a  laugh  ;  certainly  the 
girl  in  the  doorway  could  not  remember  one  ;  the 
mother  was  quiet  and  uncomplaining,  but  always  weary, 
weary. 

Two  broken  chairs,  one  with  three  legs,  on  which  a 
body  could  sit  if  they  understood  the  balancing  ;  a  square 
table  and  a  cracked  teacup  on  it,  in  which  was  a  brassy- 
looking  spoon  ;  the  unswept  hearth,  with  a  "  skillet" 
hanging  from  a  nail  in  the  brick-work  :  there  appeared 
no  other  furnishing. 

"  D'ye  want  anythin',  maw  ?"  lazily  inquired  the  girl 
in  the  doorway. 

A  strange  look  came  into  the  mother's  weary  face,  but 
she  made  no  answer. 

"  Le'me  go'n  see  if  Aunt  Dinah'll  come  t'  fix  ye  up 
better?" 

"  Ryolena,  why  do  ye  always  want  t'  git  away?  I 
sha'n't  keep  ye  much  longer.  I'll  not  see  another  sun 
up.  And  what'll  become  of  you  ?  I  don'  seem  t' 
know  !  1  can't  seem  t'  think  clear." 

Ryolena  did  not  appear  to  understand,  either  ;  she 
turned  and  surveyed  the  invalid  languidly.  "  Oh,  maw, 
ye'll  feel  better  by  sundown  ;  it's  the  heat  ails  ye  !  I  wish 
paw'd  come  an'  raise  ye  a  bit.  Le'me  go  for  Aunt 
Dinah.  She  said,  'Come  at  anytime.'  Oh,  here  she 
be  herself  !  she  said  she'd  certainly  come  over." 

"  So  I  did,  honey,"  the  beaming  face  shining  like  jet. 
"  Dinah  allers  keeps  her  word,  so  Cesar  say.  Cesar  such 
an  ole  fool  !"  Her  laugh  gurgled  up  so  full  of  cheerful- 


MRS.    CRITTENDEN    "GOES   HER   WAY."  55 

ness  that  Byolena  joined  willingly  in  it  to  shake  off  the 
nameless  depression  creeping  over  her. 

"  How's  yer  madis  night,  honey  ?  Dar,  now  !"  put 
ting  a  covered  bowl  on  the  table.  "  I  been  to  de  house 

o 

dis  mornin'  ;  jess  got  back  a  spell  ago  and  kim  right 
over.  Mis'  'Tely  she  sent  f'r  me — liab  some  gran' 
comp'ny  to  dinner  ;  mus'  hab  Dinah  to  make  puffs  an' 
poun'-cake,  and  Mis'  Betty  she  made  some  ice-cream, 
and  she  sent  you  some,  Mis'  Crittenden,  an'  hopes  you'se 
gittin'  better." 

But  the  sick  woman  turned  away  wearily.  "  I'm  so 
tired  !  I  wish  it  was  sun-up  to-morrow." 

u  Oh,  well,  we  can't  hurry  de  sun,  suah,"  gurgled 
Dinah.  "  You'se  tooken  worser  dan  las'  night,  'pears 
to  me,"  queried  the  neighbor.  "  Dar,  now,  reckon 
you'll  rest  better.  Ry'lene  might  have  fixed  ye  up 
better'n  dat  way  ye  was." 

"  It  don't  matter.  Yes,  1  shall  rest.  I'll  sleep  low, 
sleep  low.  If  'twa'n't  f'r  her  now — she's  pore  and 
helpless,  no  comp'ny  for  white  folks  and  none  for  you 
uns.  But  I'm  tired  to-night,  1  can't  think." 

"  Well,  ole  Mas'r,  He  knows — dat's  what  Cesar  allers 
say  'bout  eb'ryt'ing.  He  won't  'flict  us  more'n  we  c'n 
bear.  Trust  de  lamb  to  Him,  Mis'  Crittenden  !  He'll 
bring  her  safely  into  de  kingdom  !" 

Dinah  had  risen  into  unwonted  eloquence. 

"But  I  don't  know  Him.  I  can't  trust  Him," 
earnestly  whispered  the  set  lips.  C£  He  is  nothin'  t?  me. 
I'm  not  goin'  t'  Him.  Ef  I  only  knowed  where  1  was 
goiri'  !"  A  spasm  choked  utterance. 

Aunt  Dinah  solemnly  lifted  her  hand.  "  You  done 
clar  f'rgit  de  Bible  promises,  chile  !  Ye  can^t  git  no- 
whar  outside  de  blessed  promises  !  ole  Mas'r  knows 
what's  best  f'r  eb'ry  one  o'  His  chillern,  I  done  leave 


56  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

all  my  troubles  of  eb'ry  sort  wid  Him  ;  reckon  you'll 
Lab  to  do  de  same.  An'  now  you  inns'  done  go  t'  sleep 
an'  rest.  I  inns'  go  git  Cesar's  supper,  but  I'll  come 
fustest  t'ing  in  de  mornin'." 

By  and  by  night  fell  on  the  little  woodland  cabin,  and 
Josiah  Crittenden  came  in,  in  a  reluctant  way. 

"  Ryolena  Carosene,"  he  began,  in  a  measured  drawl, 
"  whar's  the  fire,  an'  whar's  the  supper.  One  can't 
work  an'  go  hungry." 

u  Hev  you  been  a-workin',  paw  ?"  asked  the  daughter, 
coming  in  with  an  armful  of  dry  pine  fagots,  the  dead 
cones  clinging  in  massive  bunches  around  the  scaly  stems. 
Somewhere  amid  the  ashes  in  the  fireplace  she  found  a 
spark,  which  she  blew,  kneeling  close  beside  it,  until  it 
glowed  like  a  star.  Then  a  flame  leaped  forth,  and  in 
an  instant  a  fire  was  roaring  and  crackling  up  the  rude 
chimney. 

"  Well,  mebbe  T  hev,"  he  slowly  drawled.  "  It's  the 
curse  o'  Canaan  to  work.  But  I  dunno's  I  know  what 
it's  for.  White  folks  hev  no  business  to  work  ;  it's  for 
the  African's  good  to  toil.  I'se  bin  raised  not  to  work 
ef  I  could  git  shet  of  it,  and  some  way  I  can't  make  no 
headway  at  it.  I  wish  I  hed  a  couple  of  able-bodied 
niggers  t'  do  f'r  me." 

"  But,  paw,  you  never  kin  ;  you  know  they's  all 
free,"  said  Ryolena,  getting  out  a  pan  of  corn-meal,  and 
bestirring  herself  quite  briskly,  wetting  the  meal  with 
water  and  kneading  it  into  a  glutinous  mass. 

"  Mebbe  'twill  all  come  round  some  time,"  drawled 
Josiah  oracularly.  "  They  won't  allers  stay  free  ;  it 
stan's  t'  reason." 

His  daughter  did  not  press  the  point.  She  was  pois 
ing  the  dough  on  one  plump  palm,  then  tossing  it  quickly 
from  one  hand  to  another  until  shapely  in  outline.  As 


MRS.    CRITTENDEtf    "  GOES    HER    WAY."  57 

she  bent  over  the  glowing  coals,  and  raked  away  the 
ashes  from  the  centre  of  the  hearth,  carefully  depositing 
the  pone  and  covering  it  with  clean  cinders,  she  made  a 
pretty  enough  picture,  despite  the  poverty  and  the  squalid 
bareness  of  her  surroundings. 

Her  father  eyed  her  proceedings  in  a  lazy  content 
ment,  implying,  more  forcibly  than  words,  "  Here  now 
is  comfort — none  greater  except  for  a  slice  of  bacon  and 
coffee,  perhaps — those  would  be  luxury  indeed  !  To 
rest  and  eat  !  what  is  better  in  all  the  world  !" 

While  the  ash-cake  was  cooking  she  drew  out  the 
square  table,  from  some  hidden  corner  drew  out  a  plate 
of  like  condition  to  the  teacup,  all  checkered  o'er  with 
straggling  seams  where  the  glaze  had  cracked  with  heat  ; 
also  an  iron-handled  knife,  its  blade  nicked  in  the 
centre — forks  they  never  had  possessed. 

"  Now,  paw,  you  c'n  set  up  t'  the  table  while  I  rake 
open  the  ash  heap." 

"  Ryolena  Carosene,  ax  yer  maw  if  she'll  hev  some 
bread  !"  drawled  Josiah,  brushing  off  the  ashes  and 
breaking  open  the  fragrant  pone.  "  Yer  maw  seems 
porely-like  this  eveiiin',  's  if  she's  tireder  than  com 
mon." 

"  I  know  she  won't,  paw  ;  she  couldn't  touch  the  ice 
Aunt  Dinah  left.  My  !  how  good  it  smells!  meltin'  fast 
it  be.  1  reckon  maw  won't  keer  if  1  eat  it,  to  save  it." 

tk  1  reckon  she  won't,"  assented  Josiah.  "  I  touched 
her  jess  now,  b't  she  didn't  stir.  She  is  restiii'  pow'ful 
f'r  her  ;"  and  the  daughter  took  Dinah's  bowl,  plunging 
therein  the  brassy-looking  spoon. 

"  Yer  maw  ain't  'wake  yit,"  said  Josiah  an  hour  later, 
preparing  for  slumber.  "  She's  sartainly  restin'  f'r  once 
in  her  life." 

And  so  she  was  !    "While  the  two  beings  nearest  her  in 


58  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER    IN"    VIRGINIA. 

human  sympathy  were  quietly  satisfying  human  needs, 
she  had  slipped  away  from  them  forever  ;  so  gently,  so 
peacefully  parted  with  the  tired  body  that  they  knew  not 
the  moment  of  transition. 

It  was  in  the  morning,  with  the  sunrise,  so  longed  for 
the  evening  before,  when  Josiah  made  the  discovery. 
After  the  first  startled  look,  his  features  settled  again 
into  their  usual  calm  indifference. 

"  Ryolena  Carosene,  step  here  ;  yer  maw  has  gone 
her  way." 

After  a  while  he  slowly  added  :  "  Yer  maw  was  a 
good  woman,  but  a  pow'ful  tired  one  !  It  don't  seem 
reely  so,  but  it  is  ;  she's  left  us  and  gone  her  way." 

While  in  his  ignorant  fashion  he  was  meditating  upon 
his  loss,  Aunt  Dinah  Peachy  was  making  ready  to  go  to 
the  succor  of  his  wife. 

She  was  picturing  to  herself  the  look  of  pleasure  from 
the  dull  eyes  when  she  should  unpack  the  basket  she  was 
now  filling  with  such  simple  luxuries  as  she  had  ;  the 
white  biscuits,  a  pat  of  freshly-churned  butter — and  she 
rifled  her  store  of  honey,  filling  a  teacup  generously. 

"  Couldn't  do  more  f'r  ole  Mas'r  Hisself,"  she 
muttered,  contentedly,  lifting  the  cover  to  peer  inside 
once  more.  "  'Pears  like  dat's  all  He  asks  a  pore  body 
• — do  what  dey  can.  Hi,  Cesar  !  t 'ought  you  done 
gwine  to  de  field  !  1  s'rprises  youse  gittin'  ready  f'r  a 
shake,  you  look  mighty  blue.  I  clar,  1  done  f'rgot  t' 
steep  up  some  boneset.  I  kep'  sayin'  it  all  day  yistiddy 
to  b'ar  it  in  mind,  but  gwine  over  to  Josi  Crittenden's 
an'  seein'  dat  pore  creetur — dat  mus'  hab  made  ole 
Dinah  done  f'rgit." 


"  DAT    OLE    JOSI  !"  59 

IX. 

"  DAT    OLE    JOSI  !" 

"  SEEMS  's  if  deLord  was  abroad  dis  mornin',"  mnscd 
Dinah,  as  she  trod  the  narrow  forest  path.  "  1  feel  dis 
common  solemn,  dunno  why  !  1  dreamed  all  de  night 
'bout  dis  pore  creetur  I'm  boun'  fur.  'Feared  like  she 
was  a-waitin'  f'r  jedgment,  an'  neber  a-gittin'  it. 
'Spect  it's  a  sign  dat  she  am  better  dis  mornin'.  My 
dreams  am  mighty  apt  t'  go  contrary — " 

Here  Dinah  broke  oft  to  laugh,  silently  at  first  ;  then 
she  overflowed  into  an  audible  "  ki-yi,"  and  finally  set 
her  basket  on  the  stump  of  a  felled  tree  the  better  to  in 
dulge  her  merriment. 

"Well,  well  !  dis'll  neber  do  !"  she  gasped  at  last. 
"  Dinah  can't  stan'  foolin'  away  de  precious  time  like 
dis  yer.  But  dat  ole  fool  ob  a  Josi  did  look  so  pow'ful 
cur'us  in  my  dream  !  an'  he  wur  fixed  up  so  queer  !  a 
yaller  coat  an'  a  red  hat,  an'  de  coat  come  down  so  long 
it  wur  tied  roun'  his  heels.  An'  he  stood  up  'fore  a 
mighty  big  angel  wid  wings  dat  spre'd  ober  half  de  world, 
an'  he  say  he  rastle  wid  de  angel,  he  will.  An'  de 
angel  jess  move  one  dem  big  white  wings  de  leastest  bit, 
an'  poo  !  away  goes  de  red  hat  an'  de  yaller  robe,  ober 
an'  ober  like  a  mill-wheel.  I  done  laugh  so  in  my  sleep 
dat  I  w^ake  up  an'  spile  de  rest. 

"  Stop  dar  !"  muttered  Dinah,  as  she  neared  the  soli 
tary  cabin.  "  I  hears  a  sawr  gwine — I  certainly  do  !  won 
der  what  he's  up  to  now — dat  ole  Josi  !  Should  t'ink  he 
mought  chink  up  dem  logs  ef  nothin'  more  ;  it'll  tumble 
down  ober  his  head  some  day  ;  mighty  little  he  cares  ! 
mighty  pore  trash  am  ole  Josi  !" 


60  A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

Josiali  looked  up  slowly  from  his  work  of  sawing 
boards,  when  she  darkened  the  doorway,  and  anticipated 
her  surprised  inquiries  : 

"  Well,  Aunt  Dinah,  Mis'  Crittenderi's  gone  her 
way  !" 

Too  astonished  to  speak,  her  eyes  followed  the  steady 
movement  of  his  long,  lank  arm,  till  at  last  the  board 
dropped  with  a  rattle  to  the  floor. 

"  It's  a  c'nsid'rable  of  a  s'rpriseto  all  on  us,"  holding 
off  the  board  and  sighting  with  one  eye  closed.  u  Take 
a  cheer,  Aunt  Dinah,  an'  rest  ye  ;  I  wa'n't  lookin'  to  hev 
her  go  so  fur  away  an'  she  so  tired  like — " 

"  She  won't  be  tired  no  more,  neber,  poor  lamb  !" 
interrupted  Dinah,  with  emphasis. 

"  No.  She's  gone  her  way,  an'  I  mus'  go  mine — we 
all  mus',"  mused  the  bereaved  husband. 

16  But,  Mr.  Crittenden,  you  oughtn't  do  dat  yourself  ; 
dere's  Peter  Harris'd  be  willin'  f'r  t'  help  ye." 

"  Yis,  an'  dun  me  for  the  pay  up  to  Chris' mas,  an' 
liow'm  I  goin'  to  pay  then  ?  1  don't  keer,  Aunt  Dinah. 
I  reckon  1  c'n  take  proper  keer  o'  my  own.  Eyolena 
Carosene  is  gone  to  the  spring  ;  she'll  be  glad  of  yer 
'sistance,  I  reckon.  We  shall  have  the  buryin'  this 
evening." 

He  resumed  his  planing. 

"  1  reckon  I'd  better  done  go  to  de  house  an'  see  Miss 
'Tely  'bout  it,"  quoth  Dinah,  thoughtfully.  "  1  know 
for  suah  she'll  be  pow'ful  willin'  to  let  Mis'  Crittenden 
lie  in  de  fam'ly  seminary  ;  all  us  old  servants  is  buried 
dar." 

66  1  dunno,  Aunt  Dinah,  's  I'd  be  willin'  f'r  her  to  be 
there.  They  didn't  take  no  more  notice  o'  her  'n  as  if 
she'd  been  a  rat.  I'm  'feared  she'd  rise  in  her  grave  ;  she 
wouldn't  feel  easy  like  'mong  so  many  gran'  folks." 


"  DAT    OLE    JOSI  !"  61 

Aunt  Dinah  felt  the  irony  ;  it  stung  her  simple  soul, 
but  she  forebore  rejoinder. 

"  It's  only  old  Josi  !  what  does  Dinah  care?"  she 
whispered  to  herself,  as  she  busied  herself  in  the  last 
offices  for  the  dead. 

As  the  evening  shadows  lengthened  a  group  of  colored 
neighbors,  fifteen  or  twenty  in  number,  gathered  before 
Josiali  Crittenden's  open  door.  One  or  two  of  the  men 
went  inside  and  helped  bear  the  rude  coffin  out  into  the 
forest  silence.  They  set  it  down  by  an  open  grave,  and 
waited.  Breezes  came  and  went,  rustling  the  leaves. 

"  1  done  feel  as  ef  1  mus'  put  out  a  prayer,"  whis 
pered  Cesar,  half -inquiringly.  "  De  pore  creetur 
mus' ii 't  be  kivered  up  in  de  groun'  widout  no  prayer, 
suah  !"  But  a  sign  from  Dinah  restrained  him.  Then 
his  songful  propensity  rose  like  a  bird  to  his  aged  lips, 
and  amid  the  wondering  stillness  of  the  others  he 
quavered  forth  : 

"  De  Lord  am  my  Shep'ard.     He  makes  me  ter  lie — " 

He  was  arrested  by  the  uplifted  finger  of  Josi  ah 
Crittenden,  and  his  slow,  "  Hush  !  1  don't  want  110 
singin'.  The  angels  are  singin'  t'  her  now  ;  let  them 
sing  !" 

While  the  grave  was  slowly  filled  and  levelled  by 
Josiah  the  neighbors  waited.  One  or  two  proffered  their 
services,  and  were  waved  back  :  u  1  never  did  a  gre't 
deal  f 'r  my  old  woman,  1  know,  when  she  were  livin'.  I 
reck'n  I  mought  a  holpt  her  'long  some  over  the  rough 
places.  Pore  soul  !  'twas  allers  sort  o'  rough  f'r  her, 
an'  she  growed  tireder  of  't  ev'ry  day,  till  at  las'  she 
went  her  way.  This  is  the  las'  thing  I  c'n  do  f'r  her, 
an'  I  mean  ter  do  it." 

He    paused,    surveying    his    completed    work,    then 


62  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER    IN    VIRGINIA. 

turned  to  the  friendly  group,  saying  :  "  Good-evenin' 
friends,  good-evenin'  !  Mis'  Crittenden  lies  gone  her 
way,  an'  we  mus'  go  our'n." 

Only  a  slight  girl  of  fifteen  lingered,  with  wistful, 
unanswered  glances  at  the  levelled  mound.  Her  dull 
eyes  roved  round  the  familiar  surroundings,  taking  in 
the  tangled  thickets  of  the  forest  beyond,  as  well  as  the 
dreary  structure  called  "home."  Was  she  trying  to 
understand  what  it  was  her  life  had  missed  having — 
always  missed  ? — there  were  no  happier  memories  to 
abate  the  bitterness  of  the  present  ! — was  it  some  natural 
yearning  over  the  best  portion  of  her  brief  life  now 
covered  by  the  mould  ?  was  it  only  a  vague  sense  of 
loneliness  which  oppressed  her — the  sense  of  being 
mysteriously  near  the  confines  of  that  other  life,  within 
whose  portal  her  mother  had  glided,  like  the  shadow  she 
would  be  henceforward  to  her  child  ?  Who  could  tell  ? 
The  outside  loneliness  seemed  less  dreaded  than  the 
barren  silence  and  desolation  in-doors.  And  not  know 
ing  what  else  to  do,  they  all  left  her  ;  the  setting  sun  re 
minded  each  of  home  duties. 

"  It  'pears  t'  me  1  ruther  be  black  folks  an'  b'lieve  in 
somefin' dan  white  folks  an'  b'lieve  in  noth'n',"  observed 
Aunt  Molly  Harris,  in  a  confidential  undertone,  as  they 
trudged  away  from  the  burial. 

"We  has  de  preciousest  priv'leges,  Molly.  But  den 
dere  am  heaps  wuss  folks  dan  de  Crittendens,  I  'spect," 
answered  Dinah,  charitably.  "  An'  ole  Mas'r  He  knows 
best.  Some  gits  t'  Him  one  way  an'  some  anoder  ;  an' 
I  'spect  Mis'  Crittenden,  pore  soul  !  habgone  de  only  way 
she  knew.  Pore,  tired-out  creetur  !  Reckon  'tain't  a 
sort  ob  r'lief  t'  her  a'ready,  Molly  ?" 

"  1  duimo,  Dinah,  b't  sh'll  sleep  dar  till  de  resum- 
recksh'n.  'Pears  like  1  neber  see  dcit  yer  sight  ag'in — a 


AUNT  LUCINDA   GATHERS   CAT-TAILS.  63 

man  a-tak'n  comfort  in  fillin'  up  his  wife's  grave,"  said 
Molly,  with  solemn  emphasis. 

"  Dat  ole  Josi  !"  said  Dinah.  The  cheerful  creature 
could  not  repress  her  laugh  a  moment  longer.  "  I 
wonder  who  am  boun'  f'r  t'  make  his  coffn  ?  Hi  !  I 
done  feel  so  sorry  f'r  Cesar  dis  ebenin'  ;  he  wus  a-spilin' 
f'r  t'  sing,  I  could  see.  'Spect  de  angels  wouldn't  a- 
keered  ef  his  song  had  j'ined  theirs.  Hear  him,  Molly  ! 
he's  lightin'  de  fire  f'r  supper,  an'  singin'  '  Rock  ob 
Ages.5  'Twill  sort  ob  relieve  his  feelin's.  Dat  ole 
Josi  !» 


X. 

AUNT   LUCINDA    GATHERS    CAT-TAILS. 

LITTLE  Pete  Dixon  was  performing  a  series  of  evolu 
tions,  which  he  denominated  "  turnin'  cart-wheels,"  to 
the  infinite  diversion  of  the  ebony  group  surrounding 
Aunt  Lucindy's  doorway.  Suddenly  he  paused,  heels 
uppermost,  to  inquire  : 

"  Whar  yer  done  gwine,  mammy  ?" 

"  I'm  a-gwine  down  ter  King's  ole  field  t'  fill  my 
feather-bed,  an'  yer's  t1  stay  close — d'ye  hear  ? — an'  ten' 
ter  dese  yer  chillen  !"  said  Lucindy,  slowly,  with  em 
phatic  noddings  of  her  sleepy-looking  head. 

Not  that  she  was  sleepy,  by  any  means  ;  she  had  the 
reputation  among  her  neighbors  (and  especially  among 
her  sisters  in  the  church)  of  being  "  a  rapid  sort  of 
woman!"  "  pow'ful.  sot  in  her  own  way  is  Sister 
Lucindy  !" 


64  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER  OT   VIRGINIA. 

Little  Pete  appeared  to  confirm  the  truth  of  this 
criticism,  for  he  made  haste  to  answer  : 

"  I'se  boun'  fur  ter  stay  clus,  suah's  I'se  born  !" 
f  Ye  see,  Pete,7'  went  on  his  mammy,  lapsing  into  a 
confidential  tone  as  she  wound  a  yellow  kerchief  round 
her  head,  "  'longde  branch  dere  in  King's  am  a  pow'ful 
sight  o'  cat-tails.  I'se  been  a-watchin'  'em  eber  sence 
dey  leaved  out,  an'  I'se  tuk  such  good  care  ob  'em  dat 
'pears  like  dey  jess  b'longs  t'  me  more'n  anybody  ;  an' 
dey  am  jess  right  t'  pull  now,  an'  I'm  done  boun'  f'r  ter 
go  arter  'em  'fore  Sister  Betsy  Bannister  fin's  'em  out. 
I  heerd  her  say  only  last  meetin'  day  dat  her  feather-bed 
done  slump  away  so  she  was  boun'  fur  t'  go  huntin'  cat 
tails  soon.  Sister  Betsy  allers  did  git  ahead  o'  me,  an'  I 
'clare  ter  Moses  I  don't  mean  she  shall  dis  yer  time. 
Pow'ful  cute  Sister  Betsy  allers  wus,  suah,  an'  it  grows 
on  her,  1  c'n  see.  She  am  de  spryest  member  in  de 
church,  an'  it  done  'pears  ter  me  dat  de  Lawd's  grace  in 
her  soul  done  beats  up  all  de  stupid  lumps  in  her  natur', 
f'r  de  res'  on  us  can't  done  kotch  up  wid  her  nohow. 
Dere,  Sister  Bannister,  I'se  been  tooken  wid  a  'sire  ter 
tell  de  truf  on  ye  onct  in  my  life,  suah  !" 

"  Hi  !"  grinned  Pete,  with  a  double  evolution  which 
landed  him  on  top  of  the  baby  sprawling  on  the  ground. 

"  You  Pete  !  what  ye  done  do  dat  yer  f'r  ?  Pick  him 
up  an'  wipe  de  dirt  outen  him  eyes  !  An'  now  I  mus' 
trabble  along  right  smart.  Jess  you  rake  open  dem  yer 
ashes  an'  pull  outen  de  pone  dat's  a-bakin'  when  de 
ehillern  gits  hungry,  an'  min'  yer  keeps  'em  from 
tumblin'  in  derselfs,  ef  ye  kin  !  An'  I'll  hoof  it  down 
ter  King's  an'  fill  my  bag." 

Aunt  Lucindy  was  out  of  sight  before  she  finished,  but 
that  was  of  small  consequence  to  her  ;  she  was  her  own 
best  listener  always,  and  she  continued  to  think  aloud  as 


AUNT  LTJCItfDA  GATHEKS  CAT-TAILS.  65 

she  "hoofed  it"  over  the  red  clay,  dodging  a  gully, 
paddling  through  a  branch  with  her  bare  feet,  then  strik 
ing  straight  across  a  "  stretch  o'  land  "  grown  up  to  tall 
broom -straw,  with  myriad  entangling  shoots  of  the  low- 
growing  dewberry  vines  interlacing  the  rustling  grasses. 

"  1  done  'clar  !  I  hear  dar's  a  chance  o'  snakes  ! 
'pears  I  better  keep  both  eyes  open  ;  I  s'pose  de  groun' 
ain't  worked  'nough  now  ter  done  kill  de  eggs.  I  dunno 
's  I  care  greatly  'bout  de  milk  snakes  an'  de  chasers,  b't 
when  't  comes  ter  treadin'  on  a  moc'sin  wid  my  bare 
huf,  ole  Lucindy'll  run  like  ole  Satan  hisself,  dat  she 
will." 

Having  now  reached  the  swamp  she  surveyed  with  a 
delighted  grin  the  rows  on  rows  of  nodding  plumes — 
their  serried  ranks  drawn  close,  like  soldiers  waiting  for 
battle,  and  swiftly  she  fell  to  beheading  them. 

"  I'se  not  gwine  ter  stop  f'r  t'  beat  'em  up  right 
now,"  she  muttered.  "  Pete  an'  Sukey  c'n  do  dat 
barn-bye.  I  done  'clar  !  it's  mighty  lucky  dat  one 
crap'll  grow  yere  in  King's  widout  de  leastest  trouble  !" 

"  Well,  dat's  so,  suah  !"  assented  a  voice  so  suddenly 
that  Lucinda  jumped,  scattering  her  armful  of  catkins 
right  and  left.  The  voice  added  a  loud  laugh  at  her 
discomfiture.  "  Why,  Sister  Lucindy,  did  1  done  skeer 
ye  so  ?  I.  done  seed  yer  was  pow'ful  tooken  up  wid  yer 
wild  fedders.  I'se  boun'  fur  t'  come  roun'  dis  way  on 
'count  of  Betsy  axin'  would  I  step  roun'  an'  see  if  dey 
wur  ready  ter  pull,  an'  I  done  like  f'r  ter  'bleege  my  ole 
woman.  I  seed  yer  a  long  ways  off,  as  busy  as  a  crow  in 
plant' n'  time,  an'  a-talkin'  ter  yerself,  jess  as  usual." 

"  I  re'k'n  1  wusn't  skeered  bery  pow'ful.  Ob 
course  one'll  jump  when  dey's  'spectin'  ter  see  nobody. 
Howdy,  howdy  !"  Lucindy. wiped  her  glistening  face. 

"  Jess  toler'ble,  toler'ble  !     It's  so  warm  an'  dry  dat 


66  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN"   VIRGINIA. 

noth'n'  can't  grow  !  neberknowed  sech  a  dry  spell  afore. 
I  reckon  't  am  a  jedgment  on  us  somehow,"  said 
Jerry  Bannister. 

"  For  what  den  ?"  briskly  inquired  Lucindy.  "  I 
fought  we  uns  wus  reck'ned  'bout  as  good  as  mos' 
folks." 

"  Well,  I  dunno,  I'm  suah.  Betsy  says  so,  an'  she's 
gin'rally  right.  Ter  change  de  subjeck,  I  reckon  Betsy 
kin  tote  off  her  sheet  full  o'  cat-tails  mos'  any  day. 
Here's  'nough  fur  de  hull  county  ob  'Mely.  Beats  all 
how  'mazin'  thick  dey  does  grow  !" 

"  Sart'in  !"  assented  Lucinda,  picking  furiously. 
"I've  done  filled  my  bag  a' ready  !  B't  I'se  boun'  ter 
take  anoder  turn  at  'em  ;  dere's  sart'in  suah  a  right 
smart  chance  o'  'em  dis  year,  an'  dey  do  beat  up  pow'ful 
light — mighty  nigh  as  good  as  rale  f edders.  I  ain't  seen 
a  snake  neither  ;  bress  de  Lawd  f'r  all  His  marcies  !  " 

"  Wall,  snake  pizen  is  suthin'  ter  run  from,  suah  !  I 
dunno  what  Brother  Robbins  is  gwine  f  do  wid  dat 
darter  o'  his.  There's  Betsy,  now,  goes  f'r  t'  say  'tain't 
no  snake  pizen  as  ails  her.  She  says  de  gal  am  sure 
b' witched,  f'r  she's  seen  de  spell  done  move  in  a  dream. 
I  dunno  how  she  knows,  but  she  mos'  gin'rally  gits 
t'ings  mighty  nigh  right,  does  Betsy." 

"  Sister  Betsy  am  pow'ful  smart,"  conceded  Aunt 
Lucindy.  "  De  rightsome  way  f'r  t'  do  is  f  put  it  inter 
de  church,  an'  ef  it's  pizen  'twon't  hurt  her  none,  an'  ef 
she's  cunjured  we  saints  mus'  break  de  spell  !"  The 
yellow  turban  nodded  solemnly.  "  It's  sinner  folks' 
doin's,  ye  know,  Brother  Jerry,  an'  I  knows  well  who's 
had  a  spite  'ginst  Mose  Robbins's  fam'ly  eber  sence 
freedom.  I  reckon  Brother  Mose  senses  too,  b't  he's  de 
peaceablest  man  in  de  county,  an'  won't  turn  on  a  mad 
dog  till  he  am  bit  clean  t'rongh." 


ATOT   LUCINDA    GATHERS    CAT-TAILS.  67 

"  ~/Vall,  de  church  hez  been  axed  t'  take  it  up  at  las', 
and  we're  t'  hold  a  meet'n'  t' -night,  an'  we  hopes  you'll 
be  dar,  Sister  Lucindy." 

"I  do  d'clar  !  I  knowed  'twas  kimin.  Eber  sence 
las'  Chris'mus  I've  hed  de  strangest  feelin',  'specially 
toward  de  full  ob  de  rnoon.  Me  an'  Mose  is  first 
cousins'  chillern,  ye  know,  Brother  Bannister,  an'  I  allers 
did  take  on  all  de  troubles  of  mykinfolk."  Lucinda's 
face  lengthened  with  a  solemnity  suited  to  the  occasion, 
as  she  settled  her  bag  on  her  head  and  strode  over  the 
weeds  and  brambles — the  latter  clutching  viciously  at  her 
stout  ciiecked  "  Virginny  cloth"  gown. 

"  Hev  dey  'suited  Solomon  'bout  it  ?"  she  asked,  in 
an  awed  whisper. 

A  mocking-bird  in  a  treetop  broke  into  such  a  joyous 
flood  of  melody  that  Brother  Bannister  delayed  his 
answer  a  moment  to  listen. 

"  O'  coorse  dey  hev,  an'  it's  all  bonn'  f'r  t'  come  up 
in  meet'n'.  I  dunno  's  I  hold  ter  Betsy's  notion. 
'Pears  ter  me  it's  de  snake  pizen  what  ails  her,  case  de 
chillern  done  seed  her  eat  de  snake,  suah." 

"  She  dunno  no  better.  She's  de  Lawd's  chile  " 
(meaning  one  deficient  in  intellect),  "  an'  ole  Mas'r  am 
boun'  f'r  t'  take  keer  o'  His  own  ;  dat  yer  snake,  s'pos'n, 
she  did  eat  um,  neber  go  f'r  t'  hurt  her,  s'pos'n'  she  et 
'im,  tail  an'  all,"  declared  Lucindy,  positively.  "  My 
i road  home  done  turn  here,  Brother  Jerry  ;  tell  Sister 
Betsy  howdy  f'r  me." 

Evening  came,  and  Lucinda  stood  in  her  doorway 
listening  to  the  whippoorwills.  One  by  one  the  stars 
carne  out  brightly  ;  she  appeared  to  seek  among  them  as 
for  a  sign.  "  'Tain't  time  yit,"  she  muttered,  turning 
to  reprimand  Pete  and  Chloe,  who  were  quarrelling  over 
the  contents  of  mammy's  bag  of  "  wild  feathers."  "  Dar 


68  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER  IN   VIRGINIA. 

now,  you  Pete,  you  done  quit  yer  foolin'  !  and,  Chloe, 
you  keep  ter  yer  own  sheer  !  An'  I  wants  yer  ter  pull 
'em  all  up  light  an'  not  throw  'em  roun'  none  !  an'  let 
de  h'a'th  alone  !  You  Pete  !  don't  yer  go  f 'r  t'  rake 
open  de  fire,  and  don't  let  de  baby  crawl  dere,  not  once 
—d'ye  hear?" 

kk  Whar  yer  gwine,  mammy?"  whimpered  Chloe. 
"  I'm  done  'fear'd  t'  stay  'long  wid  Pete.  He  knocks 
us  roun'  so." 

"  I  neber  did,  mammy.  Dat  yer  am  a  fool-trick,  it 
am  !  Case  she's  'fear'd  o'  hants  comin'.  /  ain't 
'fear'd  now,  dat  1  ain't  !"  and  the  boy  drew  himself 
up  proudly. 

"  Well,  now,  yer  mus'  be  good  chillern,  case  mammy 
hab  got  ter  gotermeet'n',  suah  !  an',  you  Pete,  take  good 
keer  yer  little  sisters,  case  yer's  a  man,  yer  know  — 
mammy's  little  man  !  An'  I'll  jess  lock  de  do',  an'  dar 
can't  no  hants  git  in,  Chloe,  ter  bother  ye  none." 

"  Dey  kin  creep  through  de  keyhole,"  whined  Chloe. 
"  Pete  done  say  so." 

"  Dat  dey  can't,  den,  specially  when  de  key  am  in  't. 
An'  dar  am  my  figger-stars  kimin'  up,  a-twinklin'  like 
baby  eyes,  an'  a-sayin'  ter  Lucindy,  Come  ter  de 
meet'n'."  She  stole  a  long  look  at  the  Pleiades  as  she 
spoke,  and  locked  the  cabin  door  and  hurried  away. 


A   MIDNIGHT  INCANTATION.  69 

XI. 

A   MIDNIGHT   INCANTATION. 

IN  a  leisurely  manner  "  the  saints"  strolled  into  tlie 
long,  low  structure  of  logs  set  apart  for  their  church. 
Benches  lined  the  sides,  and  a  square  pine  table  stood  at 
one  end,  serving  for  a  pulpit. 

Little  Sally  Bobbins  had  been  brought  in  at  an  early 
hour,  a  fragile-looking  creature,  who  looked  about  ten 
years  old  ;  in  reality  she  was  eighteen.  Her  small, 
yellow  face  was  seamed  and  puckered,  as  if  distorted  with 
pain.  Her  slight  figure  half  sat,  half  reclined  on  a 
bench,  perfectly  immovable  ;  her  eyes  glittered,  bead- 
like,  in  the  gloom  of  her  corner,  and  occasionally  her 
tongue  protruded  from  her  full  red  lips,  lolling  like  a 
panting  dog's. 

Fear,  aversion,  and  pity  !  Uncle  Moses  looked  slowly 
from  one  face  to  another,  reading  one  of  these  expres 
sions  on  each  face  present.  He  sighed,  and  suddenly 
gave  vent  to  a  dismal  groan,  which  had  -a  similar  effect 
on  the  subdued  crowd  that  a  thunder-clap  has  on  a 
highly  electrical  atmosphere. 

In  the  midst  of  the  excitement  Brother  Moses  spoke  : 
"  My  sperrit's  too  broken  t'  pray  t'-night.  I  done  wish 
some  one'd  pray  f'r  me  an'  mine." 

"  I  did  'xpect'd  our  preacher  'd  be  here  dis  evenin'," 
remarked  Brother  Fisher  ;  "  but  as  he  didn't  see  fit  ter 
come  we  mus'  induct  de  sarvices  ourselves.  I'll  take 
our  brother's  trouble  to  de  Lawd." 

After  a  lengthy  prayer  :  "  De  bery  fus'  t'ing  am  ter 
lay  de  fac's  ob  de  case  'fore  de  saints  in  council.  An' 
we're  boun'  ter  holp  de  suff'rer  outen  her  mizry." 


70  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

The  girl's  father  came  slowly  forward.  "  De  fac's  are 
dese  :  It  is  beiy  nigh  two  months  since  Sally  ate  a 
snake  ;  her  brother  and  sister  saw  her  do  it,  an5  tried 
to  stop  her,  b't  she  run  away,  laughin',  an'  dey  couldn't 
kotch  up  wid  her.  'Pears  like  it  was  t'  be  ;  her  mother 
neber  knowed  it  afore  she  began  ter  act  so  strangely  dat 
we  require  roun'  'mong  de  chillern  f'r  t'  fin'  out  ef 
anyt'ing  mor'n  or'nary  had  happened  t'  her  when  we 
wasn't  by.  You  all  knows  dat  our  Sally's  allers  been 
'flicted  special  by  de  Lawd  eber  sence  she's  born  ;-  but 
dis  yer  state  am  a  'stronary  disposal." 

He  paused  to  allow  his  words  time  to  take  effect.  "  I 
put  forth  an  oration  'bout  it  :  ef  de  snake  had  a-pizened 
Sally  'twould  a-come  on  her  right  away,  'pears  ter  me  ; 
what  folks  call  remejet  in  its  'fects.;' 

He  spoke  slowly,  and  his  "  oration"  evidently  im 
pressed  the  people. 

"  Dat  am  so  !"  cried  out  Betsy  Bannister,  briskly. 
"  De  truf  am  what  we  want.  Hev  you  'suited  Brother 
Solomon  ?" 

"  1  hev,  Sister  Betsy.  1  insulted  him  direckly.  An' 
he  say,  arter  look'n  at  de  signs  ob  de  hebbens,  dat  it  am 
not  de  pizen  what  ails  Sally." 

There  was  a  rustling  stir  of  expectancy  ;  the  situation 
was  developing  in  interest. 

Here  Brother  Solomon  advanced  from  the  crowd, 
leaning  heavily  on  his  staff.  He  was  nearly  a  centena 
rian,  and  his  large  black  face  was  lined  with  innumerable 
wrinkles,  but  his  voice  was  firm  and  mild  in  tone,  and 
his  large  eyes  shone  with  the  fire  of  perpetual  youth. 

Brother  Solomon  was  born  in  Africa,  and  his  mind 
was  a  mine  of  tropical  memories.  He  was  old  enough 
to  remember  the  scenes  of  that  far-away  home,  including 
his  young  mother  there,  whose  dusky  limbs  shone  like 


A    MIDKIGHT   INCAKTATIOK.  71 

satin  in  the  sunlight  and  were  fleet  as  a  fawn's  in  the 
race.  Her  voice  was  "  like  de  tinkle  ob  silver  bells,  an' 
she  allers  wore  strings  ob  shells  an'  Guinea  beans." 
Solomon  dwelt  with  loving  reverence  on  her  perfections 
of  form  and  feature,  and  he  could  never  bring  himself 
to  picture  her  as  grown  aged  and  infirm,  or  as  dead. 
Her  tears  and  affrighted  wonder  when  one  day  he  was 
torn  from  her  side  and  borne  away  to  the  little  boat  hid 
den  among  the  water- weeds,  were  painfully  vivid. 
"  She  cried  out,  '  O  Kishni  !  Ivishni  !  '  but  no  one  came 
to  rescue  me ;  and  den  she  ran  away  too,  an'  de  little 
boat  went  over  de  billows  to  a  big  ship,  an'  we  sailed  f'r 
weeks.  1  disremember  how  many.  S'pose  1  couldn't 
count  den  nohow.  My  mother  was  a  chief's  daughter  ; 
she  was  waited  on,  an'  she  never  labored." 

All  the  long  years  of  Brother  Solomon's  servitude  had 
not  impaired  his  naturally  noble  presence.  Despite  the 
rigid  surveillance  of  slavery,  he  had  acquired  some  knowl 
edge  of  letters  ;  he  could  write  passably,  and  in  occult 
arts  and  mystic  lore  his  learning  was  unquestioned — an 
inheritance,  in  strict  line  of  descent,  from  the  chieftain's 
daughter  ! 

"  De  stars  declar'  it's  midnight,"  said  Brother 
Solomon,  impressively.  "  Bring  de  maiden  to  de  front 
ob  de  room  !"  he  commanded. 

It  was  done.  He  then  drew  from  his  pocket  a  small 
substance  resembling  plumbago  ;  stooping,  he  drew  a 
circle  around  the  passive  girl.  Then  a  ring  was  formed 
of  twelve  persons  outside  this  magic  circle,  and,  surging 
and  swaying  to  the  weird,  wild  measure  of  an  African 
song,  the  mystic  twelve  danced  around  the  "  conjured 
one." 

At  first  Sally  looked  on  idly,  then  curiously  watched 
the  gyrating  figures,  the  contortions  of  her  muscles 


72  A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER  IN  VIRGINIA. 

growing  every  moment  more  violent.  She  suddenly 
leaped  to  her  feet  and  began  to  join  in  the  measure  of 
the  dancers,  still  keeping  inside  the  circle. 

And  now  Brother  Solomon,  in  a  strange  voice,  called 
out  loudly,  as  if  seeing  forms  invisible  to  the  others,  and 
said  words  which  none  present  could  understand.  He 
upraised  his  staff,  and  stood  with  bowed  head  expectant. 

The  dancers  wildly  gesticulated,  and  shouted  rather 
than  sang  : 

"  Gi'  me  de  ole  time,  de  ole  time  'ligion  ! 
Our  fadders'  ole  'ligion 

What  libed  b'yent  de  sea 
Am  mighty  good  'ligion, 
An'  good  'nough  f'r  me  !  " 

A  flash  of  lightning  came  and  went,  followed  by  a 
thunder  peal.  Then  cries  arose  from  variously  pitched 
voices,  "  Dar's  His  eye  !"  "I  done  hear  His  voice, 
suah  !"  "  De  dear  Lawd  arn^wid  us!"  mingled  with 
the  singing,  and  they  all  dropped  on  their  knees  to 
pray,  all  except  Sally,  who  fell  to  the  floor,  rigid  as  a 
marble  statue. 

"  Dere  am  trouble  a-brewin'  in  de  air  f'r  some  on 
ye,"  said  Solomon,  in  a  deep  voice,  as  he  stood  erect. 
"  1  done  see  it  in  de  air  !  May  de  Lawd  giv'  ye  grace 
ter  b'ar  it  'tliout  c'mplaint.  And  now  go  ter  yer  homes 
an'  leave  dis  shorn  lam'  ter  her  parents  an'  me." 

Uncle  Moses  carried  Sally  to  his  cabin  and  laid  her  on 
her  own  "  pallet,"  murmuring  :  "I  dunno  b't  when  she 
kirns  outen  it  she'll  be  peart  ag'in  ;  I  dunno  b't  she'll  be 
dead  ;  b't  which  way  'tis  it's  from  ole  Marster's  hand, 
an'  He  knows  jess  how  much  we  c'n  b'ar." 

"  Brother  Solomon  says,"  whispered  his  wife  Mildred, 
who  had  lingered  behind  to  inquire  of  the  oracle  what 
result  they  were  to  expect,  "  dat  we  mus'n't  look  f'r  no 


" MAMMY'S  LITTLE  PETE."  73 

change  'fore  de  new  ob  de  moon.  He  done  hopes  dat 
de  spell  am  broke,  suah  ;  b't  what  is  t'  be  will  be  !" 

"Which  I  knowed  afore,"  rejoined  Moses,  tartly. 
Then  softening  :  "  Ole  Marster  be  praised  !"  with  devout 
tremblings  ;  "  we  done  hear  Him  speak  loud  t' -night." 

"  Cur^us,"  quoth  Mildred,  meditatively.  "  Not  a  drop 
ob  rain  done  fall  dis  night  !  'Pears  as  ef  He  speak  jess 
f'r  our  miz'ry." 

"  Ef  we  am  ter  b'lieve  de  Scripture,  Milly,  we're 
done  'bleeged  ter  think  so.  F'r  we  know  dat  His  ways 
ar'  tumble  an'  pas'  findin'  out." 

"  Hush  !"  Aunt  Mildred  went  to  the  door  to  listen. 
"  'Pears  ter  me  I  heerd  a  strange  sound  ober  dar  in  de 
woods.  B't  it's  all  died  away  now." 

"  I'll  go  an'  see,"  said  Moses.  "  I  does  hope  de 
woods  won't  get  afire  dis  yer  dry  spell.  Yer  c'n  ten'  ter 
Sally  well  'nough,  I  reck'n. " 


XII. 


kk  MAMMY'S 

AFTER  Lucindy  had  locked  the  door  and  gone,  there 
was  silence  in  the  little  cabin  for  awhile.  They  huddled 
together  in  the  darkness,  listening  to  the  sound  of  her 
retreating  footsteps  ;  then  to  the  melancholy  iteration  of 
the  whippoorwills  in  the  trees  around  the  dwelling. 
The  dense  forest  shut  them  in  on  two  sides.  At  the  rear 
was  cleared  space  enough  for  a  shed,  which  was  also  a 


74  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER    IK    VIRGINIA. 

stable  for  the  one  cow — Lucinda's  sole  possession  in  the 
way  of  stock — and  a  pen  for  the  shoats,  her  especial 
pride.  There  were  no  windows  in  the  dwelling,  and  no 
means  of  exit  but  the  one  door.  Before  this  door  the 
woods  were  somewhat  more  cheery  ;  the  oaks  were  mas 
sive,  interspersed  with  lighter  growth  of  dogwood  and 
poplar,  and  a  path,  well  trodden,  led  away,  little  Chloe 
thought,  to  the  end  of  the  world.  She  knew  that  some 
where  on  this  path  lived  Uncle  Giles,  who  gave  her 
"gubber  peas"  and  chincapins,  and  who  used  to  say, 
"  No  marter  !  pick  yerself  up  !"  when  she  came  to  grief 
through  Pete's  tyrannic  teasing.  ^ 

"  Pete,  whar  does  mammy  go  ter  meet'ii'  ?  ter 
hebben  ?" 

"  I  dunno,"  answered  Pete,  uncertainly.  "  I  seed  de 
church,  b't  1  dunno  how  de  meet'n'  gits  in." 

"  Pete,"  drawing  closely  to  him,  "  did  yer  hear  her 
tak'  out  de  key  ?  Can  de  hants  creep  t'rough  de  key 
hole  ?" 

"  1  reck'n  not.  1  lissn'd  clus,  1  did,  when  she  war  a- 
turn'n'  hit,  an'  she  leif  it  in  de  keyhol',  she  did.  Ef  dar 
was  a  winder,  as  dar  am  in  Uncle  Giles's 'ouse,  I'd  clip  't 
outen  hyar  mighty  quick,  an'  let  us  out.  De  stars  a.m  a- 
shin'n'  outen  dar,  an'  when  mammy  shet  de  do'  dem 
lamps  went  out  so  !" 

Chloe  began  to  whimper,  "  1  wish  mammy  wouldn't 
go  ter  meet'n'.  Hit  am  so  dark." 

Suddenly  Pete  straightened  himself.  "  I  tells  yer, 
Chloe,  yer  needn't  be  'fear'd  whar  1  be.  Don'  yer 
know  dat  I'm  mammy's  little  man  ?  1  won't  let  nothin' 
tech  ye.  An'  I've  t'ought  o'  sumtin',  I  lies,  dis  minit. 
We'll  poke  de  fire  up  a  little,  an'  put  some  dese  yer  cat 
tails  on  f'r  wood,  an'  den  we  c'n  see  better 'n  dan  ef  de 
stars  was  shin'n'." 


"MAMMY'S  LITTLE  PETE."  75 

"  But  mammy  said  we  wusn't  ter  tech  de  fire,"  ob 
jected  Chloe. 

"  Mammy  neber  knowed  'twas  a-gwine  ter  be  so 
pow'ful  dark.  Her  was  so  tooken  up  wid  gitten  off,  dat 
she  done  f 'rgot  we  couldn't  see  ter  beat  up  dese  fedders 
she  tole  us  ter.  How  we  gwine  ter  beat  'em  up  'less  we 
see  ?  Coorse  we  mus'  see  !" 

While  the  "  little  man"  was  quieting  his  sister's 
scruples,  he  was  busily  working  out  his  idea,  and  soon  the 
merry  flames  went  leaping  up  the  log  chimney.  It  was 
a  cheery  sight,  and  Chloe  forgot  her  superstitious  fears, 
and  fell  to  work.  The  baby  had  betaken  herself  to  sleep 
long  before  on  the  hard  earth  floor,  and  the  unusual 
illumination  did  not  waken  her. 

"  Now  you  toss  on  a  few,  Chloe,  an'  den  1'se  de  nex'. 
'Spect  mammy  don't  mean  f 'r  t'  tote  fedders  f 'r  us  ter 
burn  up.  1  golly  !" 

"What  is  't,  Pete,  yer  a-starin'  so?  An'  what  am 
dat  roarin'  ?  How  de  wind  bio'  !" 

"  'Tain't  de  win',  Chloe.  We  uns  done  sot  de 
chimney  afire,  dat's  all.  Hi  !  him  done  roar  mighty  !" 

Little  Pete  was  afraid,  but  he  ranked  his  courage  a 
peg  higher  than  Chloe' s,  and  he  scorned  to  show  fear 
before  her.  Besides,  he  felt  a  boy's  exultation  at  the  un 
usual  event  ;  the  "  big  roarin',"  the  crackling  of  the  dry 
logs  as  the  mud  chinks  fell  away,  and  the  eager  flames 
licked  the  empty  spaces  ! 

A  bucket  of  water  stood  by  the  door,  with  a  gourd 
dipper  for  drinking.  Roused  at  last  Pete  darted  for  it, 
and  began  throwing  dipperfuls  on  the  fire.  He  was  a 
plucky  little  fellow,  and  though  the  smoke  nearly  stifled 
him,  he  had  no  thought  of  ceasing  work.  But  a  bucket 
ful  of  water  was  so  little  !  and  the  door  was  locked,  with 
the  key  outside  ! 


76  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHEK  IN  VIRGINIA. 

Chloe  was  crying  piteously.  The  sound  exasperated 
little  Pete.  "  Oh,  hush  dat  racket  now!  sech  a  fool- 
trick  ter  blubber,  dat  it  am  !  Scream,  Chloe,  scream  ! 
I  t'ink  Uncle  Giles'll  git  ter  us  ef  yer'll  holler  jess  as 
loud  as  ye  kin." 

"  I  can't,  Pete.  'Deed  I  can't,"  she  gasped.  "  Oh, 
Pete  !"  And  through  that  frightful  scene  the  baby 
never  woke. 

And  now  Pete  shouted  lustily  for  help.  "  Uncle 
Giles  !  G-i-1-e-s  !"  rang  shrilly  arnid  the  crackling,  crisp 
ing  flames,  while  Chloe  beat  the  door  with  her  small 
fists,  crying,  "  Why  don'  mammy  come,  Pete  ?  whar's 
mammy  ?" 

Giles  was  dreaming  on  his  pallet,  and  stirring  uneasily, 
as  if  his  visions  were  abhorrent.  Finally  he  sat  up  on 
his  ragged  couch,  with  a  suddenness  which  seemed  to 
startle  his  usual  composure. 

"  'Fore  de  mighty  Moses  now,  I  done  b'lieve  de  haag 
done  ride  me  !  I  neber  feel  s'  sort  or  fluskatered  as 
jess  dis  yer  minit.  Miss  Maryon  say  der  ain't  no  sech 
t'ing  as  de  haag  nohow.  Mabbe  der  ain't  way  up  IsTorf, 
whar  she  wus  raised.  Stan's  ter  reason  dey  won't  be 
done  cotched  up  dar  in  de  cold,  when  dey  kin  git  plenty 
o'  victims  down  hyar,  whar  't  am  more  'gre'able.  'Spect 
Miss  Maryon  '11  make  de  'quaintance  ob  dat  dis'spec'- 
able  pusson  ef  she  lib  hyar  long  'nough  ! 

"  Wall,  I  can't  sleep  no  mo',  an'  I'll  take  a  look  out 
do'." 

The  instant  the  old  man*  stepped  to  the  ground  he  per 
ceived  that  something  was  happening.  "  I  seems  ter 
smell  smoke  'n  de  air,  I  does.  Whar  c'n  it  be  ?  Dar 
now,  dat  yer  cow  a-mooin'  am  Lucindy's,  I  reck'n.  I'll 
step  up  dar  an'  see  ef  anyt'in's  de  marter.  Lucindy  am 
a  pow'f  ul  spry  sort,  b't  mighty  keerless  'bout  some  t'ings, 


"MAMMY'S  LITTLE  PETE."  77 

apt  ter  sot  her  pipe  on  do  shelf  wid  de  fire  lef  in  't.  1 
telled  her  mor'n  once  she'd  me  't  some  day,  b't  she 
larf,  an'  arnswer,  '  Oh,  Giles,  yer  am  allers  a-look'n'  out 
Pr  ebil,  an'  't  neber  kirns.'  Mabbe  I  am  sorter  dat 
yer  way  too  much,  I  b'lieves  in  people's  keerin'  f'r 
demselves,  an'  ef  ole  Giles  don't  see  ter  hisself  don't 
t'ink  nobody  else  will." 

Uncle  Giles  was  a  solitary.  In  all  the  amusements  of 
his  race  he  never  betrayed  the  slightest  interest.  From 
all  their  feasts  and  fasts  and  holidays  he  kept  away. 
Christmas  to  him  was  as  any  other  week,  to  be  lived 
through  in  his  usual  quiet  fashion,  with  his  slice  of  bacon 
soaking  in  the  skillet,  and  John  Constant  waiting  in  the 
ashes  to  strengthen  him  for  daily  labor.  He  never 
attended  meetings,  nor  weddings,  nor  burials.  He  was 
wifeless  and  childless,  but  all  the  wives  in  the  neighbor 
hood  came  to  him  for  aid  and  counsel  in  their  marital 
quarrels,  and  every  child  instinctively  trusted  in  him. 
Never  demonstrative,  affable  and  moderate  in  tone 
always,  he  was  kind  without  knowing  it,  often  with  no 
intention  of  kindness. 

Little  Pete,  in  his  extremity,  thought  intuitively  of 
Giles's  aid,  though  other  cabins  were  as  near  in  different 
directions. 

"  De  mighty  Moses  !"  Giles  lifted  up  his  voice  and 
shouted,  again  and  again.  Over  the  hill  beyond  the 
echoes  repeated  his  cry  in  mocking  fragments  of  sound. 
The  cow  had  broken  her  rope,  and  he  could  see  her 
crushing  through  the  undergrowth  of  the  forest. 
Where  the  dwelling  had  stood  at  sunset,  when  he  had 
passed  by,  now  remained  a  few  smouldering  logs,  from 
which  smoke  ascended  as  from  an  ancient  altar  of  sacri 
fice. 

Giles  was  astonished  and  puzzled.     If  the  family  had 


78  A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   LNT   VIRGINIA. 

escaped,  lie  was  surprised  that  no  one  had  been  summoned 
to  help  in  extinguishing  the  fire,  which  was  spreading 
slowly.  The  shed  had  caught,  and  a  creeping,  snake- 
like  coil  could  be  seen  darting  through  the  dry  leaves 
here  and  there. 

Without  pausing  to  listen  to  the  result  of  his  cry,  he 
armed  himself  with  pine  boughs  and  set  to  work. 
Fighting  fire  in  the  woods  is  no  unusual  experience  to 
the  Yirginian  negro.  Giles  worked  in  a  way  which 
showed  that  he  knew  how  to  deal  with  those  fiery  ser 
pents,  and  with  an  energy  that  threatened  their  extinc 
tion.  Nevertheless,  he  rejoiced  at  the  sound  of  running 
steps  and  a  breathless  "  Hallo  !  what  am  all  dis  yer  ?" 

The  voice  he  knew  to  belong  to  Judah  Harris.  "  I 
can't  stop  ter  'splain,  now  ;  come,  man,  work  at  dat  shed 
ober  yander  ;  mabbe  yer  c'n  sav'  it  yit  !" 

"  Yer  see,  I  wuz  waitin'  up  f'r  Molly  t'  come  frum 
de  meet'n',  an'  I  was  kotched  asleep'n  my  cheer,  an'  den 
I  rouse  up  like,  an'  couldn't  git  't  outen  me  dat  'twus 
time  Molly  oughter  kim,  an'  I  say  'loud,  (  Judah,  you'm 
an  ole  fool,  suah,  as  ef  Molly  couldn't  tak'  keer  herse'f  ! 
An'  I  walked  out  'long  de  road  quite  a  piece,  an'  a 
suddin  I  heerd  a  shout,  an'  anoder,  an'  den  anoder,  an'  I 
knowed  den  'twus  time  f'r  me  ter  run.  So  I  did.  An' 
mighty  glad  I  be  I  c'd  holp  ye  some." 

The  men  had  ceased  work,  and  stood  regarding  the 
mournful  ruins  of  Lucinda's  home. 

u  Ob  coorse  Lucindy's  at  de  church.  I  wonder  ef  de 
chill uns  am  wid  her  ?"  slowly  observed  Giles. 

"  I  'spect  not,"  said  Judah,  decidedly.  "  'Tain't  de 
sort  ob  'casion  when  dey'd  tak'  chilluns.  Dey'm  like 
ter  be  lefP  Hum,  b't,  ob  coorse,  dey've  run  off  ter  some 
ob  de  neighbors." 

Giles  looked  troubled.     Before  he  could  reply  voices 


''MAMMY'S  LITTLE  PETE."  79 

and  footsteps  were  heard,  and  a  group  surrounded  the 
two  men  with  excited  exclamations. 

Every  eye  turned  to  Lucindy.  Her  powerful  frame, 
drawn  up  to  its  full  height,  was  outlined  by  the  dull  glow 
from  the  dying  embers.  One  massive  hand  clutched  at 
her  heaving  breasts  as  if  she  would  tear  away  some 
obstacle  to  speech  ;  the  other  pointed  to  Uncle  Giles  in 
silence.  Full  of  a  compassion  that  waited  in  a  decorous 
silence,  no  one  could  speak. 

Suddenly  her  grasp  relaxed  ;  her  hands  fell  to  her  side 
motionless,  and  she  shouted  :  "  F'r  de  good  Lawd 
Almighty's  sake,  tell  me — tell  me  whar  am  de  chillern  ! 
"Whar  am  my  Pete,  an'  Chloe,  an'  my  baby  ? 

"  Say  yergot  'em  out,  Giles  !  say  't  !  Yer  couldn't  go 
ter  be  so  cruel  as  ter  lebe  'em  ter  die  like  dat  !" 

"I  didn't  know  dey  wus  in  yere,"  said  Giles,  in  an 
awed  tone.  "  Ob  coorse  dey  run  off  some'er's." 

"  Oh,  dey  didn't  !  dey  couldn't  !  case  I  locked  'em 
in  !  I  tell  yer  all,  afore  God,  dat  I  done  lock  'em  in 
ter  keep  'ein  safe  while  I  war  gone.  O  Lawd  God,  I 
locked  'em  in  !"  Her  great  body  shook  and  trembled 
as  with  an  ague  fit  ;  then  she  fell  suddenly  prostrate, 
with  powerful  convulsions. 

"  Pore  soul  !  dat  am  hard  ter  b'ar  !"  said  Judah,  pity 
ingly. 

"  Brother  Solomon  done  say  dat  clar  were  trouble  in 
de  a'r  ;  him  see  de  signs  a-movin',"  observed  Molly. 
"  But  wemus'  straight'n  our  souls  ter  b'ar  what  de  Lawd 
done  chuse  t'  sen'  us.  'Twon't  do  no  good  ter  kick  'gin 
Prov'dence  !" 

Giles,  who  had  been  silent,  awed,  and  sad  in  the  pres 
ence  of  this  scene,  here  lost  all  control  of '  himself,  and 
burst  forth  wrathfully  : 

"  Talk  'bout  de  Lawd  sendhr  trouble  on  folks  like  dis 


80  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER  IX  YIKGIXIA. 

yer  ?  I'se  boun'  ter  be  'shamed  on  ye.  Shovin'  off  on 
de  Lawd  all  'sponsibility  f  r  our  wrongdoings  am  de 
biggest  fool-trick  ole  Giles  eber  see.  I  tell  yer  de  Lawd 
hadn't  noth'n'  ter  do  wid  it.  Him  makes  folks  ter  liv', 
an'  Him  means  'em  ter,  an'  He  ain't  noth'n'  ter  gain  by 
spitin'  folks,  as  you  saints  'pear  ter  b'lieve.  Him  made 
Pete  ter  liv'  ;  I'll  swar  ter  dat,  suah,  f'r  dere  wa'n't  s' 
cute  a  little  nigger  'roun'  as  him.  Sech  a — " 

"  Oh,  hush  yer  racket,  Giles  !"  entreated  Judah. 
"  'Case  you  an'  me  b'long  ter  de  sinner-folks  we  no 
need  ter  stomp  roun'  a-hurtin'  saints'  feelin's.  See, 
Molly  am  a-cryin'.  All  we  c'n  do  or  say  won't  bring 
'em  back  ter  life  ag'in." 

• "  Mabbe  't  '11  be  aless'n  t'  de  odder  women  t'  stay  an' 
tak'  keer  o'  de  chilluns  dat  de  Lawd  done  giv'  'em. 
'Pears  ter  me  dat  am  de  business  f'r  modders  ter  do, 
mos'ly."  So  muttering,  Giles  paced  solemnly  down  the 
path  homeward. 

"  I'll  take  Lucindy  home  with  me,"  said  Jinsy.  "  I 
c'n  tak'  keer  o'  her  's  well  's  any  on  ye.  An'  mabbe  de 
sight  ob  my  chilluns  may  bring  her  senses  back  'g'in. " 

Lucinda  submitted  to  be  led  away.  Her  eyes  had  a 
vacant  stare.  She  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  the 
left.  She  did  not  reply  to  the  many  expressions  of 
sympathy  uttered  by  the  women  ;  perhaps  she  did  not 
hear  them.  Her  senses  seemed  dead  to  all  that  hitherto 
had  made  up  her  joyous  life  in  things  around  her. 


WELCOME   UP   OR   WELCOME    BY?"  81 


XIII. 


THE  morning  broke  with  the  busy  cackle  of  fowls  and 
the  singing  of  birds.  Everywhere  cat-birds  and  mocking 
birds  and  crows  were  calling,  making  a  delightful  jubi 
lee. 

Uncle  Moses  was  astir  with  the  earliest  of  the 
feathered  tribe,  bending  over  Sally's  pallet  with  an 
anxious  frown.  He  lifted  a  slender  dusky  hand  lying 
outside,  and  gently  pressed  it,  but  Sally  did  not  respond. 

"  She  'pears  ter  breathe  reg'lar  'nough,  Milly.  An' 
she's  limp  as  a  dish-rag.  I  done  reck'n  when  de  sleep 
wears  off  she  come  outen  as  peart  as  little  Mose  ober 
dar. "  He  drew  out  his  shoemaker's  bench  and  seated 
himself.  "  I'se  boun'  f'r  ter  mend  dis  yer  pair  o'  shoes 
f'r  Miss  Halle.  I  seed  her  yistiddy  a-gwine  roun'  wid 
odds,  an'  I  felt  'shamed  o'  myself  when  she  say,  as  sweet 
as  a  peach,  (  Ain't  ye  neber  gwine  ter  mend  my 
shoes,  uncle  ?  ' 

"I'se  boun'  ter  go  ter  de  house  dis  blessed  mornV 
ter  do  up  her  plum  'reserves,"  serenely  answered 
Mildred.  "  Dat  yer  cook  she  got  now  dunno  no  more 
'bout  mak'n'  up  sweetmeats  dan  dat  yer  chile  dar." 

"  Hi  1  Mose  do  snore  mighty  !"  chuckled  his  father. 

Aunt  Mildred  proceeded  to  tie  a  checkered  kerchief 
over  her  woolly  head,  totally  regardless  of  the  feathers 
which  profusely  ornamented  it ;  and  when  this  important 
part  of  her  toilet  was  arranged  to  her  liking,  and  her 
ample  apron  assumed,  she  looked  like  what  she  really 
was — the  sleekest,  gentlest,  best-natured  of  all  the  colored 
matrons  of  the  neighborhood.  All  tho  uames  were 


82  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

proud  of  having  been  slaves  of  the  "  quality/'  and  she 
owned  to  her  share  of  this  harmless  vanity  "  'nough  ter 
be  respe'kable."  She  "  knowed  dere  wus  a  heap  o' 
good  cooks  'roun'  de  county,  b't  she  wa'n't  'fraid  t' 
cook  side  o'  any  on  'em  !  An'  as  f'r  fine  wash'n',"  she 
could  "do  up  white  folks'  clo's  tell  dey  shone  s'  slick 
yer'd  slip  up  on  'em,  Misser  Fly  !" 

"  Wall,  Milly,  you  jess  say  ter  Miss  Halle  dat  I  done 
sole  one  shoe  'ready,  an'  I  'low  f'r  t'  put  de  patch  on  de 
odder  dis  morn'n',  suah." 

"  Yer  ash-cake  's  a-bakin',  Moses,  an'  yer  knows 
whar  de  skillet  hangs,  suah  ?" 

"  I  cert'nly  do  !  Go  'long,  ole  wooman  !  yer  needn't 
mind  me.  Give  a  howdy  f'r  me  t'  Miss  Halle,  d'ye 
hear?" 

"  It  allers  do  seem  pow'ful  good  t'  go  home  !"  mused 
Aunt  Mildred,  as  she  turned  into  the  big  gate  and 
wound  around  under  the  peach-trees  to  the  rear,  paus 
ing  at  the  kitchen  to  greet  the  cook  as  heartily  as  if  she 
did  not  thoroughly  "  'spise"  her  culinary  efforts. 

"  I'll  jess  step  up  ter  de  house  an'  speak  ter  Miss 
Halle,  an'  you,  Jule — d'ye  hear? — I  wants  de  biggest 
brass  kittle  scoured  up  so  't'll  look  like  goold." 

"Hi  !  what  am  up  now,  Aunt  Mildred  ?" 

"  Yer'll  done  see,  Jule,  d'reckly,  ef  yer '11  git  de 
vinegar  an'  ashes  an'  go  ter  scourin'  like  a  good  chile." 

"  Hi !  I  done  knows.  Missy  had  us  all  outen  pick'n 
de  plums  yistiddy."  Here  Jule  turned  a  somersault, 
putting  down  the  baby  to  do  it,  who  set  up  a  howl. 

"Jule,"  said  Aunt  Mildred,  severely,  "  I  wns  done 
raised  on  dis  bery  plantation,  an'  I  allers  hed  more 
manners  dan  ter  go  heels  ober  head  'fore  grown  ladies." 

"  Dat  yer  had  !"  assented  Jule's  mother,  coming  for 
ward,  and  cuffing  indiscriminately  right  and  left.  "  I 


"WELCOME  UP  OR  WELCOME  BY?"  83 

'clar  I'se  done  'shamed  o'  you,  ye  Jnle  !  yer'll  neber  be 
a  lady,  I'se 'fear'd." 

"  I  d'  want  ter.     Dey'm  allers  cross,"  sobbed  Jule. 

An  hour  later  beheld  Aunt  Mildred  the  most  important 
person  in  the  kitchen,  as  she  skimmed  and  stirred  the 
boiling  syrup— drip  ping  from  her  ladle  in  honey-like  con 
sistency — and  dropped  into  it  the  purple  globes,  which 
straightway  dyed  the  mass  a  rich  crimson. 

"  O  Aunt  Milly  !  I  must  see  too  !  It  does  smell 
mighty  good  !"  laughed  Miss  Halle,  running  into  the 
kitchen. 

"  Yis,  honey.  Yer  ma  was  allers  terrible  p'tic'lar 
'bout  her  'reserves,"  quoth  the  presiding  divinity. 
"  Poun'  f'r  poun',  Mildred,  she  take  keer  t'  tell  me 
allers,  f'r  fear  I'd  f'rgit.  An'  sech  cherries  as  we  're 
served  in  de  good  ole  days  'fo'  de  war  !  dey  sart'in  suah 
would  a-melted  in  yer  mouth,  honey.  No  danger  ob 
dem  a-work'n'  an'  sp'ilin'  an'  a-blowin'  de  kiver  off  de 
jar,  as  some  I  knowed  ob." 

"  Your  preserves  never  work,  Aunt  Milly." 

"  Dat  dey  don't,  honey.  Take  keer  dat  yer  baby, 
Jule  !  I'se  1'arned  better'n  t'  eber  leave  my  'reserves 
tell  dey'm  in  de  jar  all  kivered  up  clus. 

"  I  'member  once  in  ole  missus'  time  we'd  jess  lifted 
off  ter  de  h'ath  dis  bery  same  big  kittle,  an'  'twus  rnos' 
runniri'  ober  wid  'serves  a-bilin'  hot ;  I  wusn't  t'inkin' 
'out  no  chilluns  bein'  'roun',  an'  Jake's  little  pic'niny, 
who  had  nob'dy  ter  mind  'im,  'count  his  mammy's  havin' 
ter  be  'n  de  field  a  hoein'  corn,  he  kim  a-tumblin'  splash 
inter  't  !" 

Aunt  Mildred  made  an  effective  pause  ;  and  though 
all  her  audience  knew  the  sad  story  well,  the  shudder 
which  ran  around  the  little  group  was  as  gratifying  to 
the  narrator  as  if  the  event  were  recent. 


84  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN  VIRGINIA. 

"  When  I  hear  that  story,  aunty,  I  feel  as  if  I  never 
could  taste  sweetmeats  again, ' '  said  Miss  Halle,  covering 
her  face. 

The  negress  laughed.  "  I  knows  yer'll  eat  a-plenty 
ob  dis  yer,  honey.  Yer  ma  t'ought  so  too,  an'  she  done 
faint  dead  away,  an'  den  she  cried  when  sh'  come  to  ; 
deary  me,  honey,  how  she'm  did  cry  !  B't  laws  a  mussy, 
chile,  sh'  got  ober  it  soon." 

"  An'  what  dey  do  wid  hit  ?"  asked  Jule,  who  looked 
a  shade  whiter  than  usual. 

u  Oh,  we'se  'bleeged  ter  throw  't  all  way,  suah  !  Sech 
a  pity  !"  Aunt  Mildred  wiped  her  glistening  cheeks. 

"No,  no;  I  don'  mean  de  sass,  but  Jake's  baby," 
spoke  up  Jule,  impatiently. 

"  Dey  buried  'im  dat  ebenin'  outen  dar  whar  dem  two 
big  trees  grow  t'gedder  on  de  hill  yander — de  twin- 
trees,  ye  know  !  —  dars  heaps  o'  black  folks  buried 
dar  !"  ' 

"  I'se  done  gwine,  Aunt  Mildred,  I  is,  ter  hear  de 
preacher  f rum  Eichmon'  ter-morrer,"  quoth  Jule,  bright 
ening. 

"  Dem  Richmon'  preachers  be  pow'ful  high-flyers 
mos'ly.  Moses,  he  say  he  don'  gre'tly  keer  ter  lissen  t' 
'em.  He  don'  want  suth'n'  dat  he  kin  understan'.  But 
ob  coorse  we  all  sh'll  be  dar  ;  'ligion  am  'ligion,  no 
marter  what  de  shape  ob  de  cup  am  we  drink  outen." 

Here  little  Mose  burst  into  the  kitchen  :  "  Daddy  say 
yer  mus'  kim  ter  see  Sally  ;  she  don'  got  happy,  an'  she 
am  a-singin'  an'  a-tellin'  her  'sperience  pow'ful.  Our 
Sally  hevbeen  ter  hebben  a-talk'n'  t'  de  Lawd.  She  c'n 
talk  mighty  nigh  's  well's  de  preacher." 

"  Hear  her,  mammy  ?"  as  they  drew  near  the  cabin, 
which  was  surrounded  with  people.  "  Hi  !  don'  she 
clip  't  ?  Dar  she  am  singin'  now  !" 


"WELCOME   UP   OK    WELCOME   BY?"  85 

"  0  good  Mass'r,  I'll  be  dar  'n  de  mornin'  ! 
A-sitt'n'  in  de  kingdom. 
No  mo'  mo'nin',  no  mo'  cryin'  ! 
I've  leff  all  dat  behin'  f'reber  ! 
When  de  gin'ral  roll  is  called 
I'll  be  dar,  my  Lawd,  I'll  be  dar  !  " 

Moses  met  them  with  a  beaming  face.  "  I  knowed 
dat  ole  Mass'r  would  take  keer  o'  His  own." 

"  An'  now  Sally  kin  go  ter  meet'n',"  said  little  Mose, 
proudly,  "  f'r  she've  a  right  ter  go  dar  !" 

The  sleek,  well-dressed  man  of  color  seemed  out  of 
place  amid  his  humbler  hearers,  as  he  sonorously 
announced  his  text  :  "  Like  a  crane  I  do  chatter,  like  a 
dove  I  do  mourn.  Mine  eyes  are  lifted  up  to  heaven, 
for  I  am  oppressed.  O  Lord,  undertake  for  me  !" 

"  The  dove,  iny  Christian  frien's,  is  ev'rywhar  the 
symbol  of  mournin'.  There  is  no  voice  in  nature  more 
plaintive  than  its  saddening  cry.  Like  a  dove  I  do 
mourn  for  the  sins  of  my  people  !  Their  worldliness, 
their  coldness,  their  selfishness,  their  pride,  oppresses  me, 
and  I  lift  up  mine  eyes  for  help  from  on  high. 

"  To  whom  in  heaven  shall  we  go  for  help  then  ? 
Not  to  the  saints,  who  have  triumphantly  crossed  the 
river  of  Jordan  and  have  been  ushered  into  the  glorified 
presence  of  the  multitude  in  white  raiment ;  whose  sins 
have  been  scarlet,  but  are  now  as  wool  ?  Nay,  they  are 
too  happy  to  lend  a  listening  ear  to  your  trouble.  They 
are  engaged  in  singing  praises  to  the  Lamb  that  was  slain 
from  the  foundation  of  the  world.  This  mighty  world, 
my  frien's,  that  was  nebula  in  space  when  the  Lord 
spake,  and,  behold  !  with  all  its  wonders  of  animal  and 
vegetable  life,  it  sprang  into  being  in  the  little  space  of 
six  days  ! 

' '  For  that  alone,  my  Christian  hearers,  you  should 
magnify  His  name. 


8G  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER    IX    VIRGINIA. 

"  This  life,  as  you  are  all  aware,  is  a  state  of  constant 
warfare  against  evil.  But  the  reward  is  great  and  sure. 
How  will  it  be  when  you,  too,  shall  put  on  immortality 
and  be  ushered  into  the  presence  of  Jesus,  a  world-weary 
pilgrim  of  hope  ? 

"  There  you  saints  will  behold  the  hosts  whose  robes 
shine  in  the  light  of  God's  countenance  like  fearful 
lightnings  ;  there  you  will  behold  a  long  table  filled 
with  heavenly  abundance.  No  more  famishing,  my 
frien's  ;  there  is  enough  and  to  spare  for  all.  The 
Father  does  you  the  great  honor  to  preside  at  the  feast, 
and  Jesus  sits,  radiant,  at  the  foot.  And  oh,  hospit 
able  as  you  all  are  on  earth  to  your  frien's  and  loved 
ones,  you  yet  can  form  no  idea  here  of  the  welcome 
which  waits  for  you  there. 

"  The  Father  says  to  his  well-beloved  Son  Jesus, 
whom  we  delight  to  worship,  '  Ask  a  blessing,  my 
Son  !' 

"  But  Jesus,  His  face  beamin'  like  the  dawn,  waves 
His  hand  over  all,  saying  only,  '  Feast  ye,  my  breth 
ren  !  '  " 

Aunt  Dinah  Peachy  was  so  wrapped  in  these  anticipa 
tory  delights  that  she  swayed  to  and  fro  on  the  narrow 
bench,  in  some  danger  of  losing  her  equilibrium. 

Aunt  Mildred's  serene  face  was  lifted,  as  if  her  eyes 
might  pierce  the  roof  and  behold  the  glories  so  graphi 
cally  described. 

"  And,"  quoth  Moses  to  a  fellow-saint,  as  they  filed 
through  the  low  doorway,  "  he  sart'inly  do  use  de  bery 
diction' ry  words,  jess  like  the  white  folks.  It  makes  me 
mos'  want  ter  go  ter  hebben,  ter  hear  him  !" 

"  An'  I  s' prised  t'  hear  so — so  strong  'bout  de  inside 
o'  hebben,  Brother  Robbins.  We  knowed  allers  dat  de 
outside  was  de  blue  sky  'bove  us — o'  coorse  we  know  dat 


"WELCOME    UP   OR   WELCOME    BY?"  87 

— but  'peared  like  he'd  bin  dar  on  a  visit  a  purpose  ter 
tell  we  pore  uns  what  was  waitin'  for  us  when  we  done 
cross  Jurdan." 

Uncle  Moses  was  turning  over  in  his  mind  u  an 
oration"  on  the  subject,  but  he  had  no  opportunity  to 
"put  it  forth,"  for  they  came  suddenly  on  Nancy 
Bannister,  who  occupied  the  path,  chatting  noisily  with 
Jeff  Monroe.  As  Moses  passed  her  he  saw  another 
young  man  walk  quickly  toward  her,  eagerly  asking  : 

"  Miss  Nancy,  is  it  welcome  up  or  welcome  by  dis 
ebenin'  ?" 

"  Oh,  welcome  up,  1  reck'n !"  replied  Nancy,  with  a 
toss  of  her  hat. 

Being  "  in  service,"  Nancy's  wages  were  better  than 
those  of  the  field-girls,  and  she  sported  feathers  and 
scarlet  ribbons,  and  possessed  a  general  stylishness  of  ap 
pearance,  which  won  for  her  the  appellation  of  "  the  belle 
of  Amelia!" 

Jeffs  countenance  fell.  "  1  ruther  thought  dat  yer 
had  tooken  me  f'r  ter  see  yer  home  from  meet'n',  Mis' 
Nancy?" 

"  Ob  coorse,  Jeff.  Both  o'  you  c'n  come  along,  'n 
I'll  take  good  keero'  ye  both  !"  she  laughed,  turning  to 
walk  onward.  u  Let  Uncle  Moses  get  a  little  ahead  !" 

"  Yis.  An'  one  o'  we  mis' 11  git  ahead,  too,  1  reck'n. 
I  don't  dispose  t'  sheer  ladies'  comp'ny  wid  no  gen'le- 
man."  Jeff's  face  expressed  angry  decision. 

"  P'raps  yer  mean  me,  Mr.  Monroe  ?"  suavely  inter 
rogated  the  favored  swain,  with  a  derisive  smile. 

"  i  reck'n  I  do,  Mr.  Twine  !  Fus'  come  fus'  sarved,  is 
what  I've  allers  heerd  was  p'lite.  Leas'  ways  de  Rich- 
mon'  ladies  don'  'low  b't  one  gen'leman  t'  see  'em 
home." 

"  Look  here,  Jeff,  ef  yer  don'  hush  yer  fuss  wid  yer 


88  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

imp'lite  racket  ter  dis  yer  young  lady,  I'll  hev  t'  larn  yer 
ter.  I  s'pose  yer  took  consent  f'r  granted,  an'  didn't  ax 
her  comp'ny." 

"  Dat  am  cert'nly  so,"  assented  Nancy,  in  a  subdued 
voice.  "  But  look  here,  gen'lemen,  1  don'  want  no 
quar'l.  Mr.  Monroe,  I'll  s'cuse  yer  comp'ny,  ef  yer'll 
'low  rne. " 

"  Oh,  gart'in  !  B't  fust  I'll  settle  with  Boss  Twine,  ef 
yer'll  'low  me  ter." 

Both  men  were  angry  now,  and  they  fought  furiously, 
while  Nancy  ran,  panting,  to  her  father's  cabin,  nor 
stopped  to  glance  behind  her. 

"  I  wus  'bleeged  f'r  t'  be  a  witness  ob  de  scene,"  ex 
plained  Moses  to  Aunt  Mildred,  in  his  most  deliberate 
manner.  "  It  am  de  curiouses  t'ing  t'  me  dat  de  young 
men '-11  be  sech  fools  'bout  a  flyaway,  no  'count  t'ing 
like  Nancy  Bannister.  She's  right  peart-look'n',  I'll 
'low,  b't  she  ain't  got  a  grain  mo'  sense  dan  yer  old 
goose  out  yander. ' ' 

"  Hush  now,  Moses  !  What  d'ye  know  'bout  de  sense 
ob  young  gals  ?  Dem  dat  'pears  ter  be  de  mos'  ob  de 
trinin'  sort  am  of 'en  de  ones  dat  make  de  mos'  rapid 
sort  ob  wimmen.  A  gal  urns'  have  some  grit,  or  she'm 
good  f'r  noth'ii'.  1  wus  sort  o'  trinin'  myself  when  I  was 
young." 

Moses  laughed  slowly.  "B't  all  free  dem  are 
church  members  !  Hi  !  'pears  like  dey  come  down  to 
dis  yarth  tol'ble  spry  arter  gitt'n  cl'ar  f  de  hebbenly 
Ian'  ?" 

"  'Pears,  Moses,  as  ef  1  neber  heerd  afore  dis  ebenin' 
de  way  made  so  bery  straight  right  up  to  de  golden 
gate."  Mildred  looked  solemnly  meditative. 

"  De  church  !  de  church  !"  echoed  Uncle  Giles, 
scornfully.  Giles  was  fond  of  dropping  in  for  an  hour's 


MORE   ABOUT   MRS.    BARSTOW.  89 

chat  occasionally.  "  Allers  de  church  !  1  don'  see  's  it 
makes  de  leastest  difPrunce  whether  it's  sinner-folk  or 
saint.  I  don'  see  dat  de  church  'nstrains  one  frum  ebil  ! 
1  b'lieves  in  de  Bible,  b't  not  in  de  church.  And  dere's  a 
woful  reck'nin'  a-waitin'  f'r  some  dat  don'  suspec'  it 
at  de  jedgment  !  Hell  '11  surely  bind  'em  in  its 
chains  !" 

"  1  missed  Sister  Lucindy  at  demeet'n',"  softly  spoke 
Mildred,  in  the  pause  which  followed. 

u  Po'  creetur  !  po'  miz'able  creetur  !  she'll  neber 
hab  no  rno'  sense  in  dis  yer  worl',"  said  Giles,  sternly. 
"  B't  dar  now  !  1  won't  go  PT  t'  add  one  stroke  ter 
her  sorrer.  Hell  '11  bind  her  fas'  'nough  in  its  chains, 
depen'  on  't." 

"  'Pears  ter  me  as  ef  yer've  no  call  t'  set  in  jedgmen' 
on  anybody, "  said  Mildred,  mildly.  "  We'd  bes'  lebe 
dat  t'  ole  Mass'r  Himself." 


XIY. 

MORE   ABOUT   MRS.    BARSTOW. 

THE  heats  of  summer  had  dried  the  juicy  grasses  so 
that  Mrs.  Malvina  carried  on  her  dairying  amid  difficul 
ties.  She  rose  before  the  stars  were  dimmed  by  the 
dawn,  and  finished  milking.  Sometimes  there  was 
butter  to  be  "  worked  over"  or  the  churning  to  be  ac 
complished  while  the  coolness  of  the  night  lingered. 

The  stir  of  her  various  employments  penetrated  to  the 
upper  room,  and  awakened  in  Marian  an  inexplicable  feel- 


90  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

ing  of  irritation  at  losing  the  dreamy,  restful  sweetness 
of  these  morning  hours.  The  twitter  and  chirp  of  the 
birds  in  the  tree-tops  overhead  were  silenced  in  the 
steady  tramp  of  the  dasher  up  and  down,  until  Marian's 
arms  ached  in  sympathy,  and  she  arose  with  a  feeling  of 
languor  never  before  experienced. 

Sharp-sighted  Mrs.  Malvina  at  once  "  tackled  the 
cause,"  as  she  phrased  it. 

"  The  mortal  suz  !  y'  look  as  peaked  as  your  pen 
holder  there,  Marun.  And  y'  ain't  got  no  more  appetite 
than  a  dead  toad.  It's  the  chills  workin'  on  ye,  Marun. 
They're  apt  t'  run  round  the  edges  'fore  they  tackle  ye 
in  earnest." 

11 1  guess  it's  the  chills,"  said  Marian,  surveying  the 
unattractive  table,  with  its  dingy  square  of  oilcloth,  the 
smoking  corn-pone,  the  cracked,  blue-rimmed  dish  of 
fried  bacon,  swimming  in  liquid  fat,  the  dried  elderberry 
pie,  of  a  juiceless  consistency,  whereof  one  taste  sufficed  ; 
and  vaguely  wondering  why  a  pat  of  fresh  butter  could 
not  be  coaxed  from  the  .supplies  in  the  pantry,  destined 
for  the  nearest  market  town. 

As  if  reading  her  thoughts,  Simeon  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Malviny's  butter  fetches  such  a  good  price  these 
days  that  she's  stingy  of  it  to  us." 

u  One  never  should  eat  when  they're  not  hungry," 
quietly  replied  the  weary  teacher.  "  The  children 
bring  me  berries  nearly  every  day,  and  1  shall  find  some, 
no  doubt,  when  I  go  to  school." 

"  There  !  I  told  Sim  yesterday,  when  I  soaked  up 
these  elderberries,  that  I  was  glad  they'se  the  last  on 
'em.  1  wanted  t'  use  'em  up  'fore  the  dewberries  come, 
so  they  wouldn't  be  wasted  ;  b't  there  !  I  sha'n't  dry  so 
many  another  season.  I  find  we  tire  on  'em  arter  a 
spell.  Sis,  as  soon  as  your  chores  is  done  up  you  put  on 


MORE   ABOUT  MRS.    BARSTOW.  91 

your  slat  sunbunnit  an'  go  over  t'  the  Wilkins's  place,  and 
git  some  dewberries  f ' r  dinner.  Past  that  south  medder 
where  the  clover  is  you'll  find  'ern  as  thick  as  all  crea 
tion.  I'm  goin'  t'  take  the  cows  down  there  t'  feed  a 
spell,  an'  1  c'n  help  you  fill  a  pail  in  no  time.  There  ! 
I'd  oughter  said  bucket,  I  s'pose,  bein's  1  live  in 
Vrginny  !" 

"  On  the  principle,  1  s'pose,  Malviny,  of  when  you're 
in  Rome  do  as  the  Romans  do  ?"  As  he  spoke  Simeon 
reached  his  long,  unwashed,  emaciated  fingers  across  the 
table  to  Marian's  plate,  with  an  apologetic  :  "  Your  piece 
of  pie  looks  lonesome,  Miss  Stone,  an'  seein's  you  don't 
seem  to  relish  it  yourself — " 

"  Pray  take  it  !"  said  Marian,  hastily,  rising  and  leav 
ing  the  house. 

"  She's  going  across  the  field  t'  Jinsy's,"  said  Simeon, 
watching  through  the  open  window,  while  he  munched 
his  pie.  "  Wall,  she  looks  party  enough,  bareheaded, 
an'  she  don't  seem  t'  tan,  nor  freckle,  nor  burn,  no 
matter  how  fur  she  goes  in  the  hot  sun.  1  ain't  seen  no 
one  else  that  can  stan'  it  as  she  does.  An'  she  does 
c'ntrive  so  well  'bout  fixin'  her  gowns  some  way.  I 
wish  Stellur  Jane  could  git  the  hang  o'  her  way." 

"  Massy  to  me,  Sim  Barstow  !  If  you  ain't  an  ob- 
sarvin'  crittur,  then  I  never  saw  one.  I'll  tell  ye  one 
thing  (as  ye  don't  seem  t'  know),  there's  differ' nee  in 
folks.  There's  differ' nee  b'tween  alien  and  a  hawk,  and 
you  can't  make  one  inter  t'  other,  nohow  you  try.  B't 
there  !  1  must  be  off,  or  them  cows  won't  give  no  milk 
t'-night.  1  rather  thought  I'd  hold  off  a  little  till  the 
sun  dried  up  the  dew,  but  law  suz  !  I  can't  seem  t'  bear 
t'  lose  the  time.  I've  wrapped  my  feet  up  's  well  's  I 
can  in  rags,  but  they're  all  swelled  up  and  painful,  and 
I  didn't  ketch  scursely  a  wink  o'  sleep,  they  ached  so." 


92  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

"  It's  so  cnr'ns,"  qnoth  Simeon,  as  lie  smoothed  out 
Miss  Marian's  newspaper  over  his  knees,  "that  the  wet 
grass  should  make  dew-boils  on  bare  feet.  1  never 
knew  such  a  thing  up  North." 

"  There's  many  a  thing  that  happens  here  that  I 
never  heard  of  there  up  in  old  Onta',"  sententiously  re 
plied  his  wife,  as  she  seized  her  knitting-work  and 
wabbled  briskly  toward  the  cow-pen. 

Simeon  smiled  as  he  heard  her  summoning  her  forces 
like  a  general  :  "  Come  here,  Bess  !  Tilly,  you  march  ! 
Go  'long,  Jenny  !  Keep  together  !  1  don't  want  a 
run  in  the  wet  grass."  And  away  they  all  marched 
down  the  grass-grown  road,  Mrs.  Malvina  talking, 
either  to  herself  or  the  cows,  her  flexible  lips  undergoing 
strange  contortions,  and  knitting  fiercely  as  she  strode 
along. 

Marian,  seated  at  her  little  desk  in  the  schoolroom 
writing,  also  saw  her  pass,  and  watched  her  with  serious 
eyes:  "I  wish  my  friend  could  see  her  now,"  she 
mused;  then  grew  ashamed  of  herself.  "  It  must  be  the 
i  chills  a-workin'  on  me,'  as  Mrs.  Barstow  says,"  she 
muttered.  ' i  I  never  used  to  mind  things  so. ' ' 

She  resumed  her  letter  :  •  "  Many  of  them  do  not  know 
their  right  arm  from  their  left,  do  not  know  that  they 
have  shoulder-blades,  nor  the  location  of  their  spine. 
We  have  now  a  daily  drill  in  the  simplest  things  (which 
a  Northern  white  child  understands  without  any  especial 
instruction),  of  which  old  and  young  are  alike  ignorant 
here.  Despite  the  ludicrous  aspect  things  often  take,  I 
am  impressed  with  genuine  solemnity  of  feeling  as  I 
watch  these  tall,  gaunt  field-hands  and  the  plump,  well- 
mannered  house-servants,  side  by  side  with  the  little  chil 
dren,  undergoing  this  drill. 

"  For  instance,  if  I  say  how  many  senses  have  you  ? 


MORE   ABOUT   MRS.    BARSTOW.  93 

the  entire  school  reply,  '  A  heap,  1  reckon. '  But  when 
asked  to  specify  one,  they  fall  a-pondering  the  matter  with 
such  a  vacant  expression  that  I  hasten  to  their  relief. 

"  There  are  some  bright  faces  among  the  young 
pupils,  and  I  now  teach  the  older  ones  in  evening  schools, . 
thinking  it  best  to  separate  them  in  this  way.  Many 
can  come  in  the  evening,  after  the  daily  tasks  are  done.  I 
am  always  touched  anew  with  pity  at  the  sight  of  these 
poor  creatures,  fresh  from  the  day's  labor,  thronging  to 
the  schoolhouse  at  dusk,  and  eagerly  looking  up  to  me,  as 
if  with  a  few  magic  strokes  of  my  wand  I  could  dispel 
the  dense  clouds  of  ignorance  enveloping  their  brains. 

"  I  told  you  in  my  last  letter  that  1  was  trying  to  leave 
the  Barstows.  But  where  to  go  ?  There  are  several 
Southern  white  families  living  sufficiently  near  the 
schoolhonse,  but  when  I  broached  the  matter  to  some  of 
my  black  friends,  witli  one  accord  they  told  me  it  was 
4  onpossible.'  And  I  myself  feel  that  it  is.  This  feeling 
of  hostility  toward  the  freed  slaves  acquiring  knowledge, 
and  toward  myself  as  connected  with  the  movement,  is 
surprising  to  me.  They  should  rather  be  grateful  to 
those  who  undertake  the  unthankful  task  which  they 
ignore  or  decline. 

"  I  have  had  rny  eye  for  some  time  on  a  small  tract  of 
land,  of  perhaps  six  acres,  adjoining  Judah  Harris's 
homestead.  He  tells  me  he  is  sure  i  de  fam'ly  '11  be 
done  glad  ter  sell  datar'  bram'ly  lot,  f'r  't  won't  perduce 
noth'n' b't  snags  an'  snakes  an'  sassyfa's  roots,  an'  dem 
sort  o'  craps  ain't  de  mos'  'nrichin'  t'  de  folks  or  t'  de 
Ian'.  Yer  knows  dat  yer,  Miss  Maryon.  Dey'll  b'  done 
glad  t'  git  shet  o'  dat  eyesore  on  de  ole  plantashun. ' 

"  i  And  you  could  help  Peter  put  me  up  a  small 
house,  I  suppose — just  two  rooms  or  so — a  shed,  perhaps, 
1  might  need  ? '  1  inquired. 


94  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER    IK   VIRGINIA. 

"  '  Dat  1  could.  An'  I'se  mighty  glad  ob  de  turn  o' 
yer  min'  in  dat  d'rection,  Miss  Maryon,'  the  old  man 
added,  with  a  respectful  bow. 

"  Whereupon  I  authorized  him  to  buy  it  for  me  as 
reasonably  as  he  can.  It  is  conveniently  near  the  school 
and  to  Judah's  cabin.  I  can  call  upon  him  for  protec 
tion  in  case  of  an  emergency.  Not  that  I  really  expect 
occasion  will  arise.  1  have  met  with  no  open  manifesta 
tion  of  ill-feeling  from  any  one  since  the  first  evening  of 
my  arrival. 

"  I  have  no  feeling  of  privacy  at  the  Barstows.  They 
break  in  upon  all  my  attempts  at  seclusion  without  a 
signal  cough  or  knock  to  prepare  me  for  their  approach. 
"With  regard  to  Stella,  this  is  of  no  consequence  ;  she 
seldom  causes  me  the  least  annoyance.  But  Mrs.  Bar- 
stow  seats  herself  on  the  edge  of  my  bedstead,  and  rattles 
away  with  furious  energy  concerning  her  many  trials — 
£  Sim  '  being  one  of  the  greatest  of  them — until  1  put 
down  pen  or  book,  and  creep  into  bed  to  stop  their  rela 
tion. 

"  The  aforesaid  c  Sim,'  being  restless  and  sleepless, 
with  a  constant  cough  which  is  bringing  him  daily  to 
greater  attenuation  of  figure,  takes  to  midnight  readings 
for  solace.  1  hear  him  ejaculate  testily,  i  I  do  wish,  Mal- 
viny,  you'd  leave  the  matches  handy  !  ?  as  he  fumbles 
around,  and  then  he  lights  the  kerosene  ]amp  and  searches 
for  the  newspaper.  1  usually  take  care  to  leave  it  below, 
ready  for  these  midnight  prowlings.  Sometimes  it 
chances  that  1  forget  to  do  so,  and  then  1  am  startled  by 
a  vision  of  his  skeleton  frame  just  as  he  left  the  friendly 
cover  of  his  bed,  pushing  aside  the  patchwork  quilt  which 
is  supposed  to  shield  my  apartment  from  invasion.  '  I've 
^come  t'  git  the  TrybwnA  !  '  he  mutters,  and  seizing  it  he 
slowly  descends  the  ladder,  his  hollow  cough  ringing  out, 


MORE   ABOUT   MRS.    BARSTOW.  95 

as  lie  treads  the  rungs,  with  a  startling  premonition  of  the 
end.  Clearly  I  must  hasten  on  my  own  home -getting. 
I  see  it  now  '  in  my  mind's  eye,'  and  1  long  for  it." 

Mrs.  Barstow  sat  on  the  top  rail  of  the  fence  around 
"  the  south  meddar,"  knitting  and  talking  to  herself. 
Her  swollen  and  bandaged  feet  were  a  frequent  theme  of 
her  self -pitying  observations.  Further  on,  half  hidden  by 
the  tall  bushes,  Stella  Jane  was  stooping  for  the  low- 
running  dewberry  vines,  and  filling  her  pail  with  the 
luscious  fruit. 

"  Whoa,  whoa  !  Who  told  you  to  turn  your  cattle 
loose  in  my  clover  ?"  inquired  the  angry  man,  drawing 
rein  in  front  of  the  serene  matron. 

"  Who  told  you  1  was  here,  Mr.  Wilkins  ?"  she 
calmly  asked  in  turn,  "  There  !  ef  I  hain't  dropped  a 
stitch,  and  it's  b'ginning  to  run  like  all  possessed. 
Don't  know  when  I've  done  sech  a  trick  as  that  afore," 
she  added  to  herself,  as  she  bent  her  eyes  diligently  to 
her  work. 

u  Oh,  yes,  you  do  !  It's  a  frequent  trick  of  yours  to 
fill  your  cows  up  on  my  clover.  I've  heard  of  your  doing 
it  before.  And  now  Mr.  Meade  rode  by  my  place  and 
says,  c  You  can  see  her  yourself  sitting  there,  and  her 
cattle  feeding  inside  the  field,  if  you  care  to. '  1  assure 
you,  Mrs.  Barstow,  1  would  scarcely  have  believed  it 
possible  of  any  one." 

"  The  mortal  suz  !  what  is  a  body  to  do  when  the 
grass  is  so  dried  up  that  noth'n'  won't  touch  t'  nibble 
it  ?  That  yearling  over  there  was  jest  pining  f  'r  some 
good  green  grass,  an',  law  !  you'll  never  miss  it  none, 
Mr.  Wilkins.  Be  you  all 's  well  's  usual  ?"  She  met  his 
eye  with  a  coolness  that  amazed  him. 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  if  you've  a  right  to  this  field  or 
1  !"  he  ejaculated,  red  in  the  face,  as  he  dashed  away. 


96  A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

"  Highty  tighty  !  Well,  1  gness  they've  filled  np 
toler'ble  well  a' ready.  Come,  Bess  !"  She  let  down  the 
rails,  and  drove  them  through,  and  limped  after  them, 
muttering  :  "  What's  sauce  f'r  the  goose  is  sauce  f'r  the 
gander.  It's  clear  gain  all  1  get  out  o'  them  critturs. 
They  wouldn't  one  on  'em  stir  t'  help  me  'f  1  lay 
a-dyin'." 

When  she  reached  her  home  she  found  Stella  already 
relating  the  incident  to  her  father  :  "1  see  ma  a-drop- 
pin'  down  from  that  fence  about  as  lively  as  ever  she 
stepped.  An'  the  way  old  Mr.  Wilkins  ruled  it  off  t' 
her  she  won't  f'rgit  in  a  hurry." 

"  There  now,  Stellur  Jane,  you  shet  up  your  sass.  I 
guess  I  didn't  show  fear  no  great.  I  wa'n't  born  in  the 
woods  t'  be  skeered  by  an  owl.  All  the  Wilkinsesin  ole 
Yirginny  can't  skeer  me.  All  I  care  'bout  it  is  that  the 
cows  can't  ketch  no  more  bites  o'  that  clover,  f'r  's  I 
know  he'd  set  his  dogs  on  me  'f  they  did." 

"  Wall,  Malviny,  I'll  resk  but  what  ye'll  hold  yer 
own  with  any  on  'ern,"  smiled  Simeon,  grimly  eyeing 
the  teacher.  "  Ye  needn't  call  on  me  t'  help  ef  it  comes 
t'  a  pitched  battle." 

"  1  know  better' n  t'  do  that,  Sim  Basto,"  irritably 
flung  back  his  wife,  as  she  set  her  poor  swollen  feet  more 
firmly  on  the  floor  and  brandished  her  fists  closely  to  his 
face.  "  I  ain't  f'rgot  how  you  served  me  when  I  had 
that  tussle  with  Dave  Binney  up  in  old  Onta'.  B't  law 
suz  !  what's  the  use  o'  threat'nin'  a  ghost  ?/3  She  seemed 
seized  with  a  species  of  terror,  and  suddenly  left  the 
room. 

"  Marun,  Marun,  be  you  awake  ?"  she  asked,  climb 
ing  the  ladder  in  the  early  morning.  No  answer. 

"  I  know  you  be,  f'r  I  heerd  ye  a-sighin'  a  spell  back. 
Sim  says  when  a  gal  takes  to  sighin'  it's  a  sign  some  one 


MORE    ABOUT    MRS.    BARSTOW.  97 

occupies  lier  thoughts  more'n  common.  B't  I  tell  liirn, 
c  No,  sir,'  you're  on  the  wrong  tack  there.  There  ain't 
nobody  t'  court  her  here  (wuth  havin',  I  mean),  an'  mor 
tal  suz  !  ef  there' d  been  any  one  up  .North  he'd  a  been 
loppin'  down  here  a  year  or  two  ago. '  ' 

No  answer.  "  Lawful  heart,  it  seems  only  yesterday 
sence  you  come  here  !  time  does  slip  'long  mortal 
quick. 

"  "Well  there  !  I  mus'  git  'bout  my  milkin'  'fore  the 
flies  pester  me  t'  death.  Flies  ?  1  used  t'  think  we  had 
flies  up  'n  old  Onta' — b't  there  !  we  never  begun  t'  see 
flies,  I've  found  out  sence  1  have  seen  'em  here." 

"  Martin" — bending  over  her  and  trying  to  see  her 
face — "  I  should  think  you  might  tell  me  if  you're 
thinkin'  of  any  one  p'rticular.  You've  known  me 
long  'nough  t'  know  1  won't  tell  nobody — why,  the 
mortal  suz  !"  she  exclaimed,  with  pain  or  anger,  or 
possibly  both,  as  she  clapped  both  hands  before  her 
mouth  and  stepped  backward,  confronting  the  teacher. 

Marian  had  burst  into  a  ringing  laugh  at  the  absurdity 
of  the  question,  and  thrown  her  hands  above  her  head  as 
she  straightened  herself  to  meet  Mrs.  Barstow's  gaze  of 
curiosity  ;  in  doing  so  her  hands  met  her  hostess'  mouth 
with  a  resounding  blow,  which  appalled  the  giver. 

"  1  am  so  sorry,"  said  Marian,  humbly.  "  1  did  not 
think  you  were  so  near  me.  Your  question  was  so 
funny,"  and  her  eyes  twinkled,  in  spite  of  her  endeavor 
to  be  serious.  "  I  hope  you  will  forgive  an  accident." 

"  'Twa'n't  no  accident,  then,  and  I  won't  f'rgive  ye  !" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Malvina,  fiercely,  and  she  advanced,  shak 
ing  her  fist  in  Marian's  face.  "  Y'  did  it  on  purpose, 
and  I've  sense  enough  t'  know  it.  I  ain't  so  dull  b't  I 
c'n  see  through  a  grin' stun  yit,  specially  if  there  's  a 
hole  in  't.  If  I'd  a  had  false  teeth  in  my  mouth  'twould 


98  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN    VIRGINIA. 

a-knocked  'em  all  endways.  Mabbe  y'  tliink  I'm  goin'  t' 
stand  sech  treatment,  b't  ye're  mistaken." 

"  Malviny,  Malviny,"  coughed  Simeon  from  below, 
"  come  down  here  a  minute." 

"  I  hain't  time  now  t'  tell  ye  my  mind,  b't  this  I'll 
say,  ye  must  find  another  home  this  very  day."  Mrs. 
Earstow  flung  this  parting  shot  at  Marian,  who,  utterly 
dismayed  and  bewildered  by  her  violence,  stared  after 
her  in  silence. 

She  heard  her  storming  below  to  Simeon,  who  vainly 
tried  to  quiet  her  wrath  :  "I  guess  I  sot  her  down  that 
time.  Iknow  there  ain't  another  place  where  she  c'n  go 
t'  board,  'ceptin'  the  black  folks,  and  they  ain't  no  place 
fer  sech  as  her  in  them  little  cabins." 

"  Oh  hush,  ma  !  you're  too  hasty,"  entreated  Stella,  in 
a  low  tone. 

u  I  tell  you  there  ain't  another  place  she  c'n  goto,  an' 
she'll  have  t'  give  up  her  school.  An'  I  wanted  t'  git 
Stellur  Jane's  cousin,  Semanthy  Brown,  down  here  from 
old  Onta'.  She's  a  clipper  t'  teach,  they  tell  me,  an' 
bein'  our  folks  will  be  easier  t'  git  along  with." 

"  Oh,  hush,  ma  !  Marian  '11  hear  you." 

"  Wall,  I  dunno  's  I've  the  least  objection. "  Out  she 
went,  and  Marian  heard  her  voice  storming  at  the  cattle 
as  she  fed  and  milked  them. 

"  Why  not  ?"  the  teacher  was  saying  to  herself,  while 
dressing  and  deliberating  before  descending  the  ladder. 
"  I  will  not  be  made  to  give  up  my  school.  And  I  can 
hurry  on  the  purchase  of  my  house  better.  Yes,  I  will 

go." 

She  glided  from  the  house,  while  this  resolution  was 
fresh  in  her  mind,  away  across  the  lonely  stretch  of  pine 
growth,  skirting  ghastly  rifts  in  the  red  clay  of  the 
gently  rolling  uplands,  entering  at  last  on  the  forest  path 


MORE   ABOUT   MRS.    BARSTOW.  99 

that  led,  with  many  a  devious  turn,  to  Uncle  Judah's 
home. 

"  I  'clar  ter  goodness,  honey,  yer  mus'  hab  slep'  short 
ter  a-woke  up  f'r  so  airly  a  ramble,"  laughed  Aunt 
Molly,  as  she  made  haste  to  wipe  ua  cheer"  for  her 
guest. 

"  First,  I  want  my  breakfast,"  smiled  Marian,  trying 
to  be  gay.  "  And  then  I  mean  to  talk  business.  1 
want  just  what  you  are  going  to  have — a  bit  of  that  pone 
yonder." 

"  Now,  chile,  you  jess  set  still.  Molly  knows  what 
slie'm  'bout,  1  reck'n,"  said  Judah,  eyeing  her  keenly. 

"  1  want  to  come  and  live  with  you,"  said  Marian. 
'  *  Mrs.  Barstow  has  turned  me  away. ' ' 

"  Come  an'  welcome  ;  ob  coorse  we'd  feel  honored  t' 
Lev  ye,  ef  ye  c'n  put  up  wid  our  fare.  1  reck'n  we  kin 
crowd  a  little  closer  an'  let  Miss  Maryon  hab  de  lof  ter 
hersilf  ?"  said  Aunt  Molly,  quickly.  "  I  don't  want  our 
teacher  put  out  by  those  Basto  folks,  Judah  !" 

"An'  I've  done  'ranged  f'r  yer  farm,"  laughed 
Judah.  "  Ye  c'n  settle  it  any  day." 

"Now  for  the  building,  Uncle  Judah."  And  the 
teacher  almost  forgot  her  school  in  the  plans  and  prob 
lems  which  presented  themselves. 


100         A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

XY. 

A    SUNDAY    BREAKFAST. 

AUNT  MOLLY  HARRIS  was  getting  a  Sunday  breakfast. 
The  pan  of  light  bread  on  the  hearth  had  risen  to  over 
flowing  ;  she  was  kneeling  on  the  bricks  and  kneading  it, 
with  well-directed  plunges  of  her  massive  fists,  until  it 
was  a  round,  hard,  springy  mass,  which  she  surveyed 
critically  while  trying  it  with  a  floury  forefinger. 

The  log-cabin  shone  in  Sunday  brightness.  The 
poplar  floor  had  been  scrubbed  the  day  before,  till  its 
whiteness  seemed  a  reproach  to  a  careless  footfall. 

But,  indeed,  there  were  no  careless  feet  in  Uncle 
J tidah's  cabin.  Every  pickaninny,  from  tall  Flossy  down 
to  little  Pete,  were  trained  to  respect  the  Sunday  dress  of 
the  little  home,  and  to  assist  in  keeping  it  in  order. 
Besides,  as  necessary  parts  of  this  general  neatness,  they 
had  all  been  down  to  "  the  Branch"  for  a  weekly  ablu 
tion.  In  and  out  they  wandered,  getting  sniffs  at  the 
fragrant  corn-dodgers  and  fizzling  bacon,  and  going  off 
to  report  to  those  outside. 

So  numerous  a  progeny  had  Judah  that  they  were 
commonly  found  clustering  in  pairs  all  over  the  domain. 
Sometimes  Aunt  Molly  counted  them  on  her  fingers, 
calling  their  names  over,  and  doubling  under  the  finger 
thus  checked  off  before  naming  its  neighbor,  to  ascertain 
the  exact  number  belonging  to  them.  And  even  with  this 
primitive  method  of  notation  mistakes  would  occur — as 
when  she  left  little  Jude  out  altogether — and  the  omis 
sion  caused  her  kind  soul  a  temporary  shock,  as  of  his 
personal  loss. 

Besides  their  own   eight  living  children,  their  eldest 


A    SUNDAY   BRfcAK£A«£.  V   ,          »,>   ^        101 


daughter,  dying,  had  left  to  their^iovirig  e&TeNf  0ur  ke'l-p- 
less  little  ones,  who  were  at  once  brought  home  and  in 
corporated  with  the  family.  And  another  daughter, 
possessing  a  numerous  brood,  lived  so  near  that  they 
shared  the  two  homes  equally. 

A  short  white  curtain,  with  a  border  of  knotted  fringe, 
made  from  cotton  of  Aunt  Molly's  raising,  hung  before 
the  little  window  ;  its  broad  sill  held  boxes  filled  with 
black  wood-mould,  in  which  lusty  plants  were  growing  ; 
a  trumpet  vine  had  crept  up  from  the  ground  beneath  and 
fastened  in  the  low  eaves,  making  a  network  of  leafy 
shadows,  the  tubular  vine-flowers  and  pendent  seed-pods 
forming  a  picturesque  arbor. 

There  were  chests,  stools,  and  two  shuck  bottomed 
-chairs,  all  as  white  as  soap  could  make  them.  The  care 
fully  chinked  logs  were  neatly  whitewashed  ;  here  and 
there  were  pasted  newspaper  pictures — charges  of 
cavalry,  foreign-looking  fountains  and  cathedrals,  por 
traits  of  political  officials  and  railroad  magnates,  adver 
tisements  of  popular  medicines— whatever  treasure  of 
this  sort  fell  into  Aunt  Molly's  way  was  eagerly  appro 
priated  for  home  decoration. 

A  bureau,  with  brass  rings  to  its  drawers,  stood  in  one 
corner,  and  over  it  depended  from  a  nail  Aunt  Molly's 
turkey-tail  fan.  In  another  corner  stood  a  high  post- 
bedstead  with  a  flowered  valence  freshly  starched  and 
standing  stiffly  out.  The  bed  was  "  rale  hens'  feathers," 
made  up  high  and  round,  and  covered  with  a  fine  white 
linen  sheet  for  a  counterpane  :  this  had  a  history  which 
Aunt  Molly  was  fond  of  relating  : 

"  It  done  b'long  ter  my  missus  in  slave  time,  an'  was 
one  ob  de  bery  nicest  sheets  in  de  great  house  ;  dey 
wasn't  none  o'  yer  homespun  t'ings,  sech  as  missus  used 
common,  but  was  kep'  f'r  comp'ny  'casions.  But  den 


102         ;^*AN-£E3  2£H?OX)L-TEACHER    1ST   VIRGINIA. 


n'  ^e;'se  all  freed  !  I  'member  's  if 
'twas  yistiddy  how  Mass'r  Peyton  kirn  ridin'  up  on 
Black  Bess,  a-stormin',  an'  ragin',  an'  sayin'  heaps  o' 
swear  words,  an'  ord'rin'  all  de  ole  servants  what  was 
waitin'  roun'  ter  '  cl'ar  out  to  der  frien's,  de  Yankees  !  ' 
Ole  Moses  Bobbins,  de  gard'ner,  had  de  rheumatism 
mos'  pow'ful  bad,  an'  he  make  sech  a  racket  'bout 
leavin'  while  de  dew  was  a-fall'n'  ;  but  no  !  Mass'r  Pey 
ton  couldn't  abide  him  nor  none  de  res'  till  mornin'. 

"  '  I'll  hab  no  free  niggers  on  dis  yer  plantation  not 
one  hour  !  ' 

"  Sech  a  sight  o'  mi'z'ry  'twas  to  see  'em  totin'  off  wid 
bundles  an'  housen  stuff,  even  de  spinnin' -wheels  !  An' 
some  toted  de  chillen  dat  was  too  young  t'  walk,  and 
some  was  laughin'  an'  singin',  an'  some  was  cryin',  an' 
ole  Mass'r  was  a-hurryin'  'em  on  !  'Pears  like  he  mos' 
crazy  to  driv'  us  all  off  inter  de  wilderness  !  Judah  hed 
ter  tote  off  wid  de  rest — 'bout  forty  on  'em — an'  dat  was 
a,  mighty  cur'us  sort  o'  percession  a-hoofin'  it  to  de  Yan 
kee  lines  at  Bichnion'  ! 

"  Well,  I  he'd  de  miz'ry  so  I  couldn't  hoi'  up  my 
hade  !  My  missus  she  done  come  to  my  cabin  t'  read  de 
Bible  t'  me  an'  t'  comfort  me.  I'd  los'  my  baby,  an' 
Judah  was  gone  f'reber,  an'  I  was  frettin'  pow'ful  'cause 
we'se  so  done  broke  up,  Mos'  of  us  was  raised  on  de 
ole  place.  De  ole  times  dey  come  no  mo'  !  I  didn't 
know  no  Yankees,  b't  we'd  bin  tole  so  much  what 
dey'd  do  t'  us  ef  dey  eber  cotched  us.  Good  gracious 
me,  it  makes  me  laugh  now  t'  think  how  silly  we  po' 
cre'tur's  was  !  b't  den  we  didn't  know  no  better  J  we'se 
boun'  f'r  t'  b'lieve  our  white  folks. 

"  I  fretted  and  cried  so  much  my  missus  she  cried  too. 
£  Why,  you  can't  go,  Molly,'  she  say  ;  "  I  need  you  !  De 
kunnel  '11  t'ink  diff'runt  when  he  cools  off  an'  'fleets  I 


A    SUNDAY    BREAKFAST.  103 

can't  do  de  work  I  wa'n't  raised  to. '  She  was  so  sootliin' 
as  mountain  tea,  an'  she  fixed  up  t'ingsf'r  me  t'  eat  wid 
her  pretty  little  ban's,  an1  was  so  good  ter  me  dat  I 
'signed  myself  ter  stop  frettin'. 

"  An,'  sure  'nough,  he  did  fin'  out  dat  Miss  Car'line 
couldn't  work  like  we  black  women  as  was  raised  to  't ; 
he  come  roun'  ter  me  as  soft  and  sweet  as  Ingy  merlassis, 
an'  say  would  I  please  'sense  him  fool  words  an'  stay  on 
ter  do  f'r  dem  jess  as  I  used  ?  Nobody  could  make  corn 
puffs  an'  pones  like  Molly,  he  say,  an'  he  done  send 
word  t'  Judah  t'  come  back.  'Twas  when  I  was  'spect- 
in'  Judah  dat  Miss  Car'line  brung  me  dis  yer  fine  sheet 
f'r  a  spread.  '  'Twill  be  a  little  condition  ter  yer  bed,' 
she  say  ;  an',  suah  'no ugh,  it  did  make  it  look  jess  like 
de  white  folks'." 

u  She  c'd  'ford  ter  give  dat  when  yer  was  a-workin' 
widout  wages  !"  sniffed  Uncle  Judah.  He  had  a  decisive 
curtness  of  speech,  which  amounted,  sometimes,  to  posi 
tive  rudeness.  He  was  a  small,  slender  figure,  with  an 
aristocratic  bearing.  His  hair  was  grizzled,  and  stood  up 
in  woolly  shocks  above  an  intelligent-looking  face  of  an 
ashy  brownness.  Though  nearly  seventy  he  was  alert 
and  springy  as  a  boy  in  his  movements.  The  ague  had 
never  laid  its  levelling  hand  upon  him  ;  rheumatism  and 
kindred  aches  passed  him  by,  and  sought  neighboring 
cabins  for  victims.  Perhaps  the  secret  of  his  healthful 
age  lay  with  his  temperate  habits.  Not  a  drop  of 
whiskey  ever  passed  Uncle  Judah's  lips — he  did  not  like 
the  taste.  His  tobacco  crop  was  always  the  best  in  the 
neighborhood,  in  a  county  celebrated  for  good  tobacco, 
but  he  "  despised  "  the  taste  of  the  weed. 

In  these  respects  his  wife  must  be  accounted  inferior  ; 
a  toddy,  both  hot  and  strong,  was  always  relished,  and 
the  Christmas  holidays,  which  ushered  in  all  these 


104          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN    VIRGINIA. 

roystering  delights,  were  eagerly  anticipated  for  months. 
As  for  the  Virginia  weed  alluded  to,  a  generous  "  lady's 
twist"  was  always  beside  her  red  clay  Powhatan  pipe, 
on  a  little  shelf  by  the  tireplace. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  see  Aunt  Molly  smoke  ;  to  hear 
her  sturdy  puffing,  and  to  watch  the  wreaths  of  vapor 
rising  like  incense  around  her  turbaned  head  ;  then  the 
faded  eyes  drooped  dreamily,  and  a  slumbrous  charm 
descended  to  lift  the  weight  of  years  and  labor,  and 
annul  all  other  griefs  and  ills. 

It  must  be  added  that  she  also  "  chewed  "  the  seduc 
tive  staple,  but  this  was  an  universal  custom  among  the 
colored  women  of  her  acquaintance,  and  she  would 
doubtless  have  lost  caste  among  them  had  her  taste 
ordained  abstemiousness.  She  was  an  acknowledged 
leader  among  the  saints,  of  fervid  piety,  and  her  great 
grief  was  that  Judah  had  not  been  elected  "  into  de 
kingdom." 

Judah  was  often  good-naturedly  disdainful  of  his  mild, 
religious  spouse  : 

"  Molly  too  easy — she  let  de  chillen  run  right  ober 
her.  Dey  needs  de  sassafras  switch  put  on  quite  lively 
b'tween  meals.  Sassafras  an'  peach  am  de  bitters 
growin'  boys  an'  girls  need.  Hey,  Luke  ?" 

"  Peach  switches  sting  like  bees — dat  dey  do  !" 
whined  Luke,  with  plaintive  glances  toward  his  mammy. 

"  I  kin  'tend  ter  dat  business  as  well  as  ter  de  craps. 
I  done  b'lieve  dat  I  like  ter  whip  better'n  I  like  ter  eat  !" 
declared  Uncle  Judah,  in  his  crispest  tones,  while  his 
Sunday  "  stock"  seemed  to  grow  more  rigidly  erect  to 
the  row  of  shining  faces  solemnly  watching  him. 

"  Dis  yer  am  a  pow'ful  pretty  day  dat  b'gins  de  tract 
able  meetV,"  remarked  Aunt  Molly,  as  she  moulded  her 
bread  into  quartern  loaves,  and  placed  them  in  the  well- 


A   SUNDAY    BREAKFAST.  105 

greased  bake-kettle.  After  which  she  raked  up  a  tidy 
bed  of  glowing  embers,  placed  the  kettle  thereon,  and 
heaped  live  coals  on  that. 

"  Mighty  nice  day  !  mighty  nice  !  "Well,  Molly,  I'm 
glad  I've  done  got  through  thrashing  an'  my  corn  crap 
's  all  laid  by  !  I  feel  as  if  I  c'n  spar'  de  time  as  well  as 
anybody.  Dat  terbaccy  in  de  low  ground  needs 
suckerin'  some  ;  b't  Junius  an'  Caldonyus  an'  Luke  hev 
got  ter  manage  dat,  meet'n'  or  no  meet'n'  !" 

"  'Pears  as  if  Dony  oughter  go  t'  de  meet'n'  ;  he's  old 
'nough  t'  be  a  member,"  began  Molly. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  c'n  go  some,  b't  mus'  work  some 
too." 

Aunt  Molly  opened  the  cupboard  and  proceeded  to  set 
the  long  pine  table  with  her  few  cherished  pieces,  chiefly 
relics  of  former  sets  used  by  her  old  mistress,  and  be 
stowed  on  this  humble  servant  ii  to  get  them  out  of  the 
way. ' '  Setting  aside  the  diversity  of  styles  and  colors,  the 
variety  of  nicks  and  cracks,  and  the  ingenuity  of  mend 
ing,  they  made  a  really  artistic  show.  There  were  forks 
with  one  prong,  and  of  the  four  knives  only  one  rejoiced 
in  a  clumsy  handle  of  horn,  which  was  the  exclusive 
possession  of  the  master  of  the  house.  Bright  they  were 
as  red  clay  scourings  could  make  them. 

A  yellow  "  t'reen"  of  dewberry  "  'reserves"  flanked 
the  fragrant  corn-pones.  Aunt  Molly  paused  once  by 
the  window  to  pinch  off  a  rakish -looking  sprout  of  her 
favorite  u  fish  geranium,"  all  aglow  with  great  trusses  of 
scarlet  ;  she  bent  tenderly  over  the  citronalis,  which 
flung  her  the  sweetest  of  greetings. 

Uncle  Judah  took  advantage  of  her  preoccupation  to 
slyly  rake  open  an  innocent-looking  bed  of  ashes  in  one 
corner  of  the  fireplace  ;  a  puff  of  incense  floated  up 
which  brought  Molly  swiftly  to  his  side. 


10G          A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER    IN    VIRGINIA. 

Judah  softly  laughed.  "  Yer  see,  Molly,  I  done  go 
to  de  tater-patch  'fore  yer  was  up,  an'  I  boun'  f'r  ter 
rob  de  hills  o'  some  dere  roots — I  boun'  f'r  to  give  my 
ole  woman  a  Sunday  s'r prise.  Dem  red  yams  is  pushin' 
'long  right  smart."  lie  placed  the  basin  of  sweet  pota 
toes  beside  her  plate. 

"  Well,  yer  cert'nly  has,  Judah  !  yer  s'rprised  me 
pow'ful  !  I'd  no  idee  dey  was  roastin'  side  my  ash- 
cakes  ;  ef  yer'll  cut  dat  big  watermilyun  I'll  take  up  my 
light  bread." 

"  Oh  mammy,  mammy  !  de  hogs  am  out,  an'  a-puttin 
f'r  de  gearden  !"  shouted  Caladonius,  tumbling  into  the 
doorway.  "  Hi  !  I  smell  taters — I  cert'nly  do  !  Good 
Jnrdan,  but  dat  am  a  peart  rnilyun  !" 

"  Dony,"  queried  his  mammy,  with  the  severest  look 
she  could  assume  on  such  a  happy  morning,  "  1  dunno 
w'hy  yer  am  boun'  f'r  t'  'flict  yer  ole  mammy  so  ?  I'se 
tole  yer  so  often  'bout  usin'  swear- words,  eber  sence 
you'se  born  !" 

"  Why,  'tain't  cussin'  ter  say,  i  Good  Jurdan  !  '  " 
Dony's  eyes  grew  big  with  surprise. 

"  It's  de  name  ob  de  sacred  riber,  chile  !  We  hab  ter 
cross  Jurdan  'fore  we  done  enter  de  kingdom.  We 
mus'  speak  'speckful  ob  sech  t'ings  as  we  can't  see  till 
our  time  comes  !"  mournfully  sighed  his  mother. 

"  I  tell  yer  now,  you  fin'  Junius  an'  Luke — dar  dey 
be  under  de  gum-tree — an'  you  boys  bring  dem  hogs  in 
mighty  quick  !"  crisply  ordered  his  father.  "  I  jess  's 
soon  take  down  dat  strap  on  Sunday  as  any  oder  day  !" 
But  Dony  had  sped  long  before  this  brief  soliloquy  was 
finished. 

"  I  done  hab  a  feelin',  Judah,  dat  some  great  blessin' 
comin'  ter  dis  yer  tractable  meet'n',"  serenely  pursued 
Aunt  Molly.  "  De  signs  am  all  right  f'r  it,"  she  added, 


A   SUNDAY   BREAKFAST.  107 

with  a  mysterious  nod  of  her  yellow  turban.  "  I'se 
been  a-watchin'  all  de  pas'  month  !" 

"  Tell  ye  what,  Molly,  de  signs  is  dat  onless  I  git  a 
new  padlock  on  our  sullar-door  we  sh'll  be  mighty 
short  o'  bacon  barn-bye  !"  shortly  interjected  her  prac 
tical  husband.  u  I  done  see  de  signs,  too.  One  on  'em  's 
dat  miz'rable  no  'count  Brutus,  what  used  terwork  down 
ter  Mattoax,  he's  moved  over  on  Jones's  trac',  an' 
mighty  sorry  I  be.  Dey  done  brake  inter  Mose 
Robbins's  sullar,  an'  took  all  dey  wanted  !  Dey  jess 
scooped  out  de  lard  from  de  bucket  wid  der  han's — I  see 
it  as  'twas  left,  all  dirty  an'  streaked — an'  toted  off  a 
shoulder  an'  two  jowls  ! 

"  Yis,  an'  de  'pinion  am  gin'rally  dat  de  nigger  dat 
stuck  dat  yer  hog  in  young  Mr.  Percy's  hog  lot  de  oder 
night  kin  be  foun'  on  de  bery  same  premises  ober  to 
Jones's  !"  Jndah  could  be  oracular,  also,  as  well  as  his 
wife. 

"  I  done  b'lieve  Brutus  am  a  member  o'  Bethiah 
Church,"  slowly  meditated  Aunt  Molly. 

"  Don'  car'  'f  he  be  ;  don'  car'  'f  he  b' longs  ter  forty 
churches  !  When  dar's  lard  an'  bacon  in  de  way 
churches  don't  stan'  no  show  a'  tall.  Molly,  preach' n' 
am  well  'nough  'f  dere's  practice  ter  f  oiler.  Glad  I 
ain't  no  member  !  Nobody  need  t'  lock  up  dere  meat 
nor  flour  ter  keep  me  outen  'em  !  Ef  I  j'ined  de  saints 
dar  's  no  tellin'  what  I'd  come  ter,  suah  !" 

Aunt  Molly  meekly  poured  herself  a  cup  of  coffee 
without  replying.  She  was  accustomed  to  Judah's 
denunciation  of  "  the  saints  ;"  being  a  good  woman  her 
self  she  knew  there  was  too  much  reason  for  his  raillery. 

Religion  to  these  ignorant  blacks  does  not  mean  a 
spiritual  force  whereby  they  are  lifted  to  a  nobler  con 
ception  of  life  and  its  daily  duties  ;  their  moral  natures 


108          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

remain  imstrengtliened.  To  escape  hell  in  the  hereafter, 
whither  all  are  tending,  and  looked  forward  to  with  un 
speakable  dread,  they  must  come  through  an  intense 
emotional  'experience,  after  which  they  are  saved  from 
all  consequences  of  sin,  either  past  or  prospective. 

As  the  morning  hours  wore  away,  and  the  sun  silvered 
the  graceful  branches  of  a  witch-elm  in  the  neatly  swept 
yard,  Uncle  Judah  rose,  saying,  "  Don'  want  ter  hurry 
ye  none,  Molly,  b't  I  see  the  grove  is  all  alive  wid  folks 
— all  alive.  De  chillen  don'  went  off  some  time  ago." 

Out  into  the  pleasant  yard,  among  strutting  turkeys, 
noisy  guinea-fowl,  and  sober  hens  scratching  busily  for 
their  hungry  broods.  Some  tame  pigeons  came  swoop 
ing  down  from  the  ridgepole,  and  alighted  at  Aunt 
Molly's  feet,  mutely  beseeching  feeding.  Folly  and 
Fash  lifted  their  canine  heads,  and  eyed  the  aged  pair 
with  wistful  yelps,  as  they  slowly  disappeared  past  the 
spreading  witch-elm,  with  its  knobby  and  lichen-like 
branches  ;  past  the  majestic  sweet-gums  and  tulip-trees  ; 
past  the  garden  paling,  with  a  cluster  of  low-branched 
peach-trees  to  one  side,  and  into  the  forest,  seamed  with 
interlacing  paths  leading  to  well-known  friends  and 
neighbors. 

There  is  nothing  quite  so  alluring  in  Virginia  as  a 
forest  in  a  thickly-settled  neighborhood.  Majestic  oaks 
that  have  weathered  the  storms  for  centuries,  spreading 
their  giant  arms  as  if  to  shield  their  younger  and  ten 
derer  brethren,  alike  from  midsummer  heats  and  winter 
blasts  ;  the  shining  leaves  of  the  poplar  and  the  silvery 
shimmer  of  the  aspen  catching  the  eye  of  the  roamer 
through  the  well-trodden  paths  ;  the  countless  shrubs  in 
flower  or  fruitage,  from  the  graceful  fringe  tree  to  the 
bristling  chinquapin  ;  and  the  brilliant  hues  of  the  wild 
flowers  which  nestle  beside  the  tree  roots. 


A    SUNDAY    BREAKFAST.  109 

Listen  to  the  hammering  notes  of  woodpeckers  echo 
ing  down  the  leafy  aisles  !  A  moment  spare  for  the 
friendly  chattering  call  of  innumerable  thrushes,  so  fear 
less  that  they  flit  before  your  face  and  alight  on  the 
nearest  twigs.  The  air  is  vocal  with  insect  and  bird 
life,  and  over  all,  supreme,  away  up  on  the  uppermost 
bough  of  a  venerable  oak,  sways  a  mocking-bird,  his 
liquid,  various  notes  filtering  down  to  us  through  the 
warm  sunshine. 

And  now  there  are  human  voices  mingling  with  these 
others — cheerful  laughter  and  confidential  chatter,  and 
a  band  of  brother  members  singing.  The  vista  has 
widened  into  "  Pleasant  Grove,"  a  church  in  its  midst, 
built  of  logs — a  long  and  low  structure  with  doors  at  each 
end.  Women  are  grouped  here  and  there,  arrayed  in  every 
color — the  styles  of  costume  are  original  and  odd — but 
every  face  wears  a  joyous  greeting  to  these  newcomers. 

The  singing  rises  into  a  loud  chant  : 

"  Ole  Satan  got  one  iron  shoe,  iron  shoe  ! 
Ef  yer  don't  look  out  he'll  put  it  on  you  !  " 

The  chorus  was  taken  up  by  the  whole  body  with 
tremendous  vigor  : 

"  O  giv'  way,  Jurdan !  giv'  way,  Jurdan  ! 
I  want  ter  come  across  fr  ter  see  my  Lord  ! 
Ole  Satan  like  one  hunter  dog, 
He'll  hunt  yer  right  straight  home  ter  God  ! 

0  giv'  way,  Jurdan  !  giv'  way,  Jurdan  ! 

1  want  ter  come  across  f  r  ter  see  my  Lord. 
Ole  Satan  like  one  sly  ole  coon, 

Him  boun'  ter  dodge  yer  grip  too  soon  ! 

0  giv'  way,  Jurdan  !  giv'  way,  Jurdan  ! 

1  want  ter  come  across  ter  see  my  Lord  ! 
Ole  Satan  am  de  bery  debil 

Ter  temp'  yer  toward  ways  ob  evil  ! 

0  giv'  way,  Jurdan  !  giv'  way,  Jurdan  ! 

1  want  ter  come  across  ter  see  my  Lord  ! " 


110          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

XYI. 

THE    "  TRACTABLE    MEETIN'." 


u  WELL,  Sister  Moll}7",  dar  comes  de  preacher.  I 
reck'n  we'd  better  b'  gwine  inter  de  house,"  said  Dinah 
Peachy.  "Cesar  he  druv  ober  ter  Powhatan  Station 
ter  brung  him  in.  I  tell  Cesar  he  done  f  rgot  ter  sleep 
a  wink  las'  night  f  r  fear  him  wouldn't  rouse  up  soon  dis 
yer  sun-up."  She  laughed  cheerily  as  she  nodded  to 
arriving  friends. 

Inside  were  two  long  rows  of  seats  ;  hickory  logs  sawn 
of  a  proper  height,  with  smooth  boards  laid  thereon, 
formed  the  benches.  The  entering  men  filed  toward  the 
right  row  and  the  sisters  to  the  left.  The  four  deacons 
sat  on  a  bench  underneath  the  pulpit  and  facing  the  con 
gregation. 

The  "  members" — otherwise  self-styled  "  the  saints" 
— were  privileged  to  occupy  the  front  benches,  while  the 
younger  people  and  the  u  sinner- folks"  fell  to  the  rear. 

With  an  effusive  prayer  the  meeting  opened.  A  short 
sermon  followed,  but  the  preacher  had  not  yet  wound 
himself  to  his  highest  pitch.  He  ended  by  giving  out  a 
hyrnn,  one  line  at  a  time,  which  was  sung  with  swaying 
motions  of  the  body  and  incessant  hand  shakings.  Then 
another  line  was  read,  and  sung  and  emphasized  with 
shaking  of  each  other's  hands,  and  so  on  unto  the  close. 

Then  a  sort  of  benediction  was  spoken,  the  singers 
murmuring  a  chant,  accompanied  by  a  steady  patting  of 
their  feet  on  the  floor.  It  grew  faster  and  more  monoto 
nous,  and  loud  clapping  of  hands  broke  the  rhythm  : 

"  New-born  baby  !  born  again  ! 
New-born  baby  !  born  again  ! 


THE    "  TRACTABLE   MEETIN'."  Ill 

Born  in  de  mangel  o'  Bethelem  ! 
New-born  baby  !  new-born  baby  ! 
New-born  baby  !  born  again  ! ' ' 

Swifter  went  the  strain,  and  the  singers  rose  to  their 
feet.  One  after  another  of  the  sister-saints  began  to 
sway  and  bend  to  the  music,  and  in  an  incredibly  short 
time  the  entire  congregation,  both  women  and  men,  were 
dancing  and  shouting  to  the  solemn  strain  : 

"  New-born  baby  !  new-born  baby  !  born  again ! 
Born  in  de  mangel  o'  Bethelem  !  " 

What  subtle  power  lurked  in  those  simple  words  it 
were  hard  to  say  ;  the  swaying  motion  increased  ;  they 
bent  forward,  as  if  stooping  to  pick  something  from  the 
floor ;  recovering,  with  a  springy  jerk  they  inclined  to 
the  right,  to  the  left,  and  backward  ;  they  turned  around, 
and  saluted  without  appearing  to  see  each  other — their 
faces  solemn,  their  eyes  downcast,  as  if  under  a  spell. 

Suddenly  arose  a  clapping  of  hands  and  ejaculations, 
"  Hi  !  hi  !"  in  sharp,  crisp  tones.  The  measured  tread 
of  feet  broke  into  a  concerted  step — a  sort  of  jump  and 
rebound.  Here  and  there,  amid  the  swaying  throng,  were 
women  who  had  "got  happy  ;"  who,  in  fact,  appeared 
oblivious  of  every  earthly  surrounding.  Aunt  Molly  was 
one  of  these.  In  spite  of  age  and  fleshly  weights  she 
went  springing  up  and  down  the  circle  with  the  agility 
of  youth. 

"  When  de  Lawd  gits  hold  o'  us  we're  boun'  f'r  ter 
phout  an'  praise  Him  !"  shouted  Dinah  Peachy,  at  the 
same  time  endeavoring  to  moderate  her  spiritual  sister's 
excessive  gyrations,  even  throwing  her  fat  arms  impul 
sively  around  her. 

But  Molly  neither  heard  nor  heeded ;  she  neither 
panted,  nor  spoke,  nor  appeared  to  breathe.  In  and  out 


112          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

of  the  mysterious  evolutions  she  writhed  and  jumped 
and  twisted,  while  Judah  stood  in  the  rear,  among  the 
sinner-folk,  watching,  with  ill-concealed  pride,  the  saintly 
achievements  of-  his  spouse. 

But  suddenly  her  motion  slackens,  her  turkey-tail  fan 
falls  to  the  floor,  her  eyes  have  closed  in  apparent  sleep, 
and  she  suddenly  falls  backward  like  a  log,  knocking 
poor  Aunt  Dinah  far  out  of  the  circle  of  revolving 
forms.  Two  of  the  deacons  lift  Aunt  Molly  and  bear 
her  to  a  bench  by  the  rear  door,  where  awaiting  sisters 
fan  her,  and  wipe  her  forehead,  and  watch  her  complete 
recovery.  Aunt  Molly  has  "  fallen  out." 

Uncle  Judah  does  not  stir  from  the  doorway,  yet  he 
sees  all  this,  and  exults,  and  inwardly  says  :  "  Molly  done 
hab  de  pow'r  o'  de  sperit  mighty  hard  !  Molly  suah  am 
allers  ready  f'r  ter  praise  de  Lawd  !" 

But  now  the  singing  ceases,  only  to  take  an  entirely 
different  measure  : 

"  Befo'  I'd  be  a  slave, 
I'd  be  buried  in  de  grave, 
An'  g'  home  ter  my  Father  ter  be  free  !  " 

shouts  Cesar  Peachy,  the  entire  body  repeating  the  words 
in  chorus,  with  shoutings  and  clappings  and  jumpings  : 

"  Oh,  Jurdan  it  am  deep  ! 
Oh,  Sinay  it  am  steep  ! 
But  ole  Mas'er  am  boun'  ter  set  us  free ! 
Him  'bleeged  ter  set  us  free,  set  us  free  ! 
Ole  Mass'r  from  hell  '11  set  us  free  ! " 

While  all  this  excitement  and  fervor  was  spending 
itself  in  a  fearful  uproar  within  the  church,  the  grove 
was  peopled  with  merry  groups  enjoying  their  luncheon. 
The  preacher  sauntered  up  to  one  of  these  groups,  beg 
ging  for  a  "  sheer"  of  their  "  good  t'ings."  With 


THE    "TRACTABLE    MEETIffV  113 

many  laughing  jests  the  baskets  were  freely  opened  unto 
him. 

The  noon  sped,  and  it  was  eventide. 

"  The  time  is  passin',  an'  yer  souls  are  perlshin',  my 
friends  !"  The  preacher  solemnly  wiped  his  mouth  on  a 
sweet  gum  leaf.  "  We  hab  work  ter  do  dis  yer  ebenin'. 
De  Lawd'll  smite  us,  hip  an'  thigh,  ef  we  lets  dis  yer 
precious  day  go  by  widout  bringin'  one  po'  soul  inter  de 
kingdom  !" 

Groans  from  various  saints,  and  cries,  "  Dat's  so  ; 
we're  'bleeged  f'r  ter  work,  suah  !" 

"  We  mus'  'umbel  ourselfs  befo'  deLawd  !"  declared 
the  preacher.  "  We  mus'  hav'  de  'umbility  of  sheeps, 
ef  we  'spects  f'r  ter  brung  de  bless'n'  down  !  Oh,  my 
po'  sinner-folks  a-sittin'  an'  a-standin'  ober  dar  by  de 
do',  what  does  yer  'spect  f'r  ter  do  when  Jesus  kirns 
through  dat  yer  do'  ?  Oh  yes,  my  po'  frien's,  He's 
comiii',  suah  !  He's  boun'  f'r  t'  come,  H's  'bleeged  f'r 
ter  come — 1  know  He'll  come  !  Whar  two,  an'  leastways 
whar  three,  am  gathered  togedder,  dere  He  says  He 
boun'  f'r  t'  be  !  An'  Him  done  come  now,  'cordin'  t' 
His  Word  !  I  feel  His  presence  dis  mortal  minute. 
Sister  Harris  ober  dere  she  feels  His  presence — " 

Dat  I  does  !"  vociferated  Aunt  Molly,  plaintively. 
Brother  Peachy  an'  Brother  Jones  dey  done  feel  His 
presence  !  de  saints,  ev'n  down  to  de  lowes'  one,  done 
feel  His  presence  !  An'  some  o'  ye — mighty  po' 
creetur's  ye  be  ! — am  a  trifle  weaker  dan  yer  used  f'r  ter 
be,  an'  you  am  de  bery  ones  dat  oughten  ter  feel  His 
presence  !  We  none  o'  us  need  ter  be  'shamed  o'  our 
Jesus  !" 

"Bress  de  Lawd  !  I  ain't  'shamed  o'  Him!" 
shouted  Aunt  Dinah,  rising  and  shaking  her  hands 
toward  the  preacher.  / 


114         A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   Itf   VIRGINIA. 

"No,  you  ain't,  sister,"  he  assented,  swiftly.  His 
voice  had  been  gradually  rising,  and  now,  strung  to  its 
highest  pitch,  he  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  denuncia 
tions  : 

"  Oh,  yer  po'  quiv'rin'  lam'  !  Yer  timid  an'  trus'ful 
little  creetur  as  is  'fraid  f'r  ter  leave  yer  mother's 
shelt'rin'  arms  !  What  am  yer  boun'  f'r  ter  do  when 
de  resumrecshun  draws  nigh,  an'  yer  can't  put  off  de 
jedgmen'  no  longer  ?  Yer's  got  ter  stan'  in  dat  awful 
presence,  an'  yer  mammy '11  hab  'nough  ter  do  a-tendin' 
ter  her  own  'count  j  no  mammy  '11  shelter  ye  in  dat  day 
ob  wrath  ! 

"  An'  you,  ole  man,  a-tremblin'  on  de  bery  varge  o' 
time,  what  you  a-gwine  f'r  ter  do  when  de  lamp  runs 
cl'ar  down,  an'  yer  little  breath  is  sniffed  out  like  a 
candle  ?  Won't  yer  wish  f'r  de  rocks  ter  crash  down  an' 
hide  yer  miz'ble  shame  ?  Sooner  or  later,  po'  sinner,  ye's 
boun'  f'r  ter  stan'  in  His  presence  !  It  may  be  dis  bery 
night  dat  yer  soul  '11  be  acquired  o'  ye  !  'T won't  do  f'r 
ter  say,  c  Oh,  I  done  hab  my  craps  ter  see  to,  Lawd  !  I 
had  no  time  ter  waste  !  '  Sech  a  frettin'  roun'  ter  fin' 
'scuses  ter  bring  dat'll  prove  'ceptable  ter  Jesus,  as 
dere'll  be  in  dat  day  !" 

"  I  done  suah  dat  fool  'scuses  dey'll  be  !"  said  Aunt 
Mildred  Bobbins,  getting  up  in  her  excitement  and  ser 
monizing  to  those  immediately  surrounding  her. 

"  An'  it's  so  easy  ter  do,  po'  los'  sinner — so  easy  ter 
jess  come  inside  de  kingdom  !  Why,  dere's  death's 
racket  a-ragin'  roan'  eberywhar  b't  in  God's  kingdom, 
an'  de  worl'  is  a-crumblin'  t'  atoms,  an'  de  graves 
a-givin'  up  der  dead,  an'  inside  de  bless'd  kingdom  am 
de  saints,  as  calm  an'  easy,  widout  a  single  car'.  F'r 
why,  oh  sinner  ?  Why,  they've  done  got  home  !  An' 
dere  sits  de  bless'd  Saviour  a-reachin'  out  f'r  ter  draw  ye 


THE    "TllACTABLE   MEETItfV  115 

all  up  likewise.  An'  you  won't  go  f'r  ter  take  hold  o' 
dat  jer  bless'd  han'  !" 

Groanings  and  subdued  exclamations,  which  rise  into 
an  indistinguishable  roar. 

"  It's  so  pow'ful  easy  ter  b'lieve  an'  be  saved  fr'in  de 
eberlastin'  burnin',  an'  so  pow'ful  hard  t'  be  lost.  D'ye 
know  what  it  means  ter  be  lost  ?  Maybe  y've  strayed  a 
right  smart  piece  fr'm  horn'  sometime,  some  on  ye,  an' 
got  into  some  wild  woodland,  where  dere  wa'n't  no  paths 
leadin'  ter  der  neighbors'  housen  ;  maybe  de  night  done 
fall,  an'  yer  human  heart  felt  a  nutter  o'  dread,  not 
knowin'  what  de  morn'ii'  might  bring.  B't  what  is  it 
t'  be  lost  in  de  trackless  waste  impared  to  de  deep 
d'struction  ob  yer  soul's  life  in  de  wastes  ob  hell  ?" 

Groanings  and  excited  mutterings  on  every  side.  The 
singing  band  began  a  mournful  wail,  over  which  the 
preacher's  voice  rose  strident  :  u  T'ink  ob  it  as  y'  stan' 
dere  on  de  bery  brink  !  Y'  can't  see  it  now,  b't  y're 
boun'  ter  feel  it  bery  soon.  I  am  de  preacher  ob  God's 
Word  revealed  to  all  His  chillen,  an'  I  must  tell  yer  de 
bitter  truf— " 

"  Oh,  what  yer  gwine  ter  do  when  de  lamp  burns  down  ? 
De  lamp  boun'  t'  burn  down  mighty  soon  ! 
What  yer  gwine  ter  do,  po'  sinner,  say  ! 
Eat  not  de  honey,  drink  not  de  wine  ! 
Yer  lamp  '11  burn  down  !  pray,  po'  sinner,  pray  ! 
Oh,  what  yer  gwine  ter  do  in  de  jedgment  day? 
Ole  Master  a-waitin  by  de  do'  dar  ! 
Welcome  Him,  sinner  !     Him  trabel  far 
T'  bless  dis  mo'nin'  time, 
Dis  glor'us  mo'nin'  time  ! 
Oh,  pray,  kneel  an'  pray,  po'  sinner,  pray  !" 

This  appeal  from  the  singing  band  of  brothers,  reiter 
ated  in  a  mournful  tune,  while  the  shrill  tones  of  the 
preacher  surged  over  all,  had  the  desired  effect.  A 


116         A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER  IN  VIRGINIA. 

dozen  youngish  people  rose,  with  downcast  eyes,  and 
went  forward  and  took  "  the  mourners'  seat." 

Still  the  loud  tones  and  the  mournful  chant  mingled 
with  occasional  remarks  from  earnest  "  members"  as 
"  Glad  ter  see  Sister  Sally's  chillen  a-mournin'  !"  "  Bress 
de  Lawd,  dat  sinner  Jake  am  a-mournin5  at  las'  !" 

Slowly,  to  the  surprise  of  every  one,  Uncle  Judali 
went  down  between  the  rows  of  upturned  faces  and  took 
a  mourning-seat. 

The  sisters  wTho  were  nearest  Aunt  Molly  grasped  her 
hand  with  many  hearty  congratulations. 

"  De  Lawd  am  marciful  t'  me  !"  she  responded,  with 
a  stately  dignity  a  duchess  might  have  envied.  "  I 
knowed  afore  I  come  dat  de  signs  wa'n't  sent  f'r 
nothin'." 

"  Dat  dey  wa'n't,  sister  ;  de  signs  boun'  f'r  t'  come 
true." 

The  sun  set,  red  as  blood.  The  parched  plants  drooped 
to  the  still  heated  earth,  vainly  awaiting  refreshing 
dews.  Whippoorwills  came  out  of  their  lurking-places, 
and  sang  their  one  note  in  maddening  iterations.  Cicadas 
lazily  droned  in  countless  numbers,  sounding  like  a  con 
tinuous  hum.  Young  quail  scurried  in  and  out  of  rus 
tling  grasses,  secure  in  the  slow  approach  of  night. 
Timorous  hares  ventured  forth,  leaping  over  the  red 
clover,  in  search  of  their  evening  meal.  Mosquitoes 
warmed  into  aggressive  life,  and  awoke  to  a  conception 
of  the  real  duties  of  their  brief  existence  ;  their  torturing 
hum  chimed  in  with  the  cricket's  "  cheep,"  the  bullfrog's 
croak,  and  seemed  a  not  ungentle  companion  of  the 
myriads  of  flitting  fireflies,  gleaming,  like  tiny  stars, 
among  the  trees. 

Cattle  lowed  in  pine  pastures,  spurning  the  languid 
broom-grasses,  in  silent  wonder  at  the  prolonged  absence 


HOW   U^"CLE   JUDAH    "CAME   THROUGH."  117 

of  their  milkers.  And  one  by  one  the  starry  constella 
tions  burned  to  an  intense  brilliance,  as  only  August 
stars  can  shine  in  the  unclouded  depths  of  this  Southern 
sky. 

The  roaring  sound  of  feet  and  voices  ceased  at  last  in 
Pleasant  Grove,  and  the  tired  people  went  to  a  well- 
earned  rest. 


XVII. 

HOW    UNCLE    JUDAH    "  CAME   THROUGH." 

SEVERAL  days  passed,  each  an  exact  transcript  of  its 
predecessor.  Every  day  numbers  of  the  mourners 
"  came  through,"  and  entered  into  their  new  inheritance, 
leaping  suddenly  to  their  feet  to  join  in  the  exulting 
shouts  of  the  brethren.  None  of  the  "  sinner-folk" 
were  suffered  to  join  in  any  of  the  exercises. 

Uncle  Judah  lingered  with  the  mourners,  and  his 
figure  grew  to  wear  a  sort  of  funereal  sadness.  His  face 
became  of  an  ashen  hue,  the  lines  intensified,  the  eyes 
dull  and  hopeless.  Even  his  abundant  woolly  hair  ap 
peared  to  have  lost  its  vitality— no  longer  erect  and 
defiant,  but  unmistakably  depressed  and  drooping. 

Every  one  sorrowed  with  him.  Some  silently  offered 
little  attentions  and  courtesies,  which  he  scarcely  heeded. 
Some  prayed  with  him  and  for  him  alone  in  the  forest 
thickets,  and  the  birds  sang  soft  interludes  to  the 
agonized  petitions,  which  ascended  from  Judah  as  a 
duty,  but  in  no  sense  a  hope  that  fulfilment  would  follow. 

These  brethren,  older  in  the  Christian  life,  followed  up 


118         A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

his   trembling  fears,  reasoning   and   explaining   with   a 
patient  persistence  touching  to  witness. 

One  of  these  earnest  ' t  laborers  in  the  vineyard  ' '  was 
Uncle  Cesar  Peachy. 

"  Jess  say  ter  Jesus,  '  Here  I  be  !  I'm  ole  Judah  !  I 
want  ter  go  t'  heaben  wid  de  res'  !  I  got  nuif'n'  ter 
giv'  ye  back  b't  jess  dis  yer  po'  ole  black  mourner,  dat's 
wuth  miff  n'  at  all  I  >  "  " 

"  B't  I  can't  say  't,"  gasped  the  old  man,  honest  to 
the  very  verge  of  being  (as  he  thought)  shut  out,  in  con 
sequence,  from  heaven.  "  'Pears  as  ef  a  heavy  han'  was 
laid  on  me,  a-crashin'  all  de  sperit  outen  me  !  I  done 
wants  ter  look  up,  but  I  dunno  how  ter  shake  off  dat 
han'  !  Do  you  know  how,  Cesar  ?" 

By  way  of  reply  Uncle  Cesar  proceeded  to  relate  his 
own  experience  : 

"  Yer  see,  Judah,  I  was  hemmed  up  jess  as  you  be. 
I  couldn't  seem  ter  get  cl'ar.  Night  an'  day  1  couldn't 
sleep  nor  eat.  An'  po>  Dinah  she  fret  wid  me  !  She 
sech  a  famous  cook,  an'  she  fix  up  more  t'ings  ter  tempt 
dis  ole  mourner  ter  eat  dan  Satan  eber  fix  up  for  me  ter 
do  when  I  was  a  sinner,  an3  'clined  toward  ebil  ways. 
Bat  I  couldn't  taste  de  Gumbo,  nor  de  Brunswick  stew, 
nor  de  wafflers,  nor  de  fried  chick'n  ;  an'  when  a 
nigger  goes  agin  fried  chick'n,  'tis  a  suah  sign  dat  him 
mind  is  ser'usly  diskiltered  !  Wall,  Dinah  ain't  no  angel, 
b't  she  done  cook  like  one  dat  yer  time,  suah  ! 

"  1  lay  out  on  de  kyart  mos'ly  o'  nights,  so  ?s  I  c'ld 
be  nearer  to  de  stars.  'Pears  all  de  comfort  I  got  was 
in  seein'  God's  worl'  's  an  inflecti'n  on  His  goodness. 
Yer  see,  I  knowed  He  was  good,  b't  I  was  so  pow'ful 
hemmed  up  I  couldn't  praise  Him.  One  night  1  sud 
denly  see  Hischar'ot  wheels  a-flarnin' in  desky.  I  cried 
out,  I  so  skeered,  an'  Dinah  she  kim  a-rushin'  out,  say- 


119 

in',  '  What  is  it,  Cesar  ? '  I  p'inted  up.  '  Dar's  de 
Lawd  in  de  air  a-callin'  me  !  '  Isay.  An',  suah  'nough, 
I  heerd  Him — mighty  nigh  like  distant  thunder — a- 
callin',  c  Cesar,  Cesar,  why  ling'res'  thou  ? ' 

Judah  had  roused  into  an  attitude  of  deep  attention. 
"An'  what  den?"  he  hoarsely  whispered,  as  if  awe- 
stricken. 

"  Why,  I  answered,  {  Yere  am  I,  Lawd  !  '  an'  Dinah 
she  say  dat  my  voice  soun'  like  a  silber  trumpet,  so  high 
and  cl'ar.  An'  I  was  sudden  tooken  wid  a  d'sire  f'r  ter 
praise  Him,  an'  tell  His  grace.  An'  I  put  out  straight 
f'r  Brother  Mose's  cabin  at  midnight,  an'  1  call  aloud  an' 
tell  what  de  Lawd  hab  done  f'r  me.  An'  dey  all  got  up 
ter  hear  an'  pray.  I  went  ter  eb'ry  cabin  f'r  three  mile 
roun'  !  Some  dey  scoff  (but  dey  was  sinner-folks),  an'  dat 
didn't  make  no  diff'runce — Itole  saints  an'  sinners  alike. 
An'  'pears  like  ole  Cesar's  life  ain't  long  'nough  f'r  t' 
praise  Him,  b't  I'se  boun'  ter  use  eb'ry  minute  !" 

"  Oh,  if  1  might  behold  His  glory  like  dat  !"  sighed 
Judah. 

"  Yer  will,  Judah  !  Or,  if  'tain't  'zackly  like  dat,  'twill 
be  jess  as  good  a  way."  Cesar's  voice  and  manner  were 
inexpressibly  soothing  to  the  weary  man.  He  went  on : 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  t'ink  'bout  yer  case  :  yer  am  a 
pow'ful  strong  man,  yer  know,  eb'ry  way  ;  maybe  our 
preacher  ain't  strong  'nough  by  hisself  ter  brung  yer 
through  ;  leastways  we've  done  got  a  preacher  from 
Mount  Olive  Church  ter  help  us  t'-morrer,  an'  I  hes 
faith  t'  b'lieve  ye'll  get  outen  de  darkness  inter  de 
light." 

Giles,  also,  in  a  neighborly  spirit,  brought  balm  : — 
"  Judah,  I  done  wish  y'd  quit  a  tryin'.  Ef  yer  '11  'tend 
t'  yer  dooty  in  dis  worl'  I'll  b'  boun'  t'  resk  yer  in  de 
odder.  I  dunno  what  yer  wants  t'  change  fur." 


120         A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   OT  VIRGINIA. 

The  morrow  brought  the  Mount  Olive  preacher — a 
large,  powerful -looking  negro  of  an  inky  blackness. 
The  people  assembled  at  an  early  hour.  It  was  Satur 
day,  and  the  last  day  of  the  "  tractable  meeting."  Such 
of  the  mourners  who  failed  to  experience  the  needful 
emotions  on  this  day  and  evening  were  left  over  to  the 
succeeding  year's  meeting,  and  then  wrestled  with  and 
fought  for  anew.  In  some  mysterious  manner  the  im 
pression  had  gone  abroad  that  the  Lord  would  show 
forth  marvellous  things  that  day. 

As  usual,  the  sermon,  with  its  terrible  and  liery  warn 
ing,  increased  that  heavy  weight  of  which  poor  Uncle 
Judah  complained.  His  eyes  stealthily  dwelt  on  the 
new  preacher's  face  ;  Aunt  Molly's  eyes  steadily  watched 
Judah's. 

In  the  middle  of  the  sermon  sounded  the  rumble  of 
thunder.  A  flash  of  lightning  startled  the  people  ;  they 
crouched  closer  together. 

"  D'ye  hear  Him  a-speakin'  now  ?  Dat  voice  is  a- 
callin  these  sinners  t'  appear  befo'  His  jedgment-seat  ! 
D'ye  see  de  flash  ob  His  eye  ?  He's  angry  wid  de  sinner 
eb'ry  day  !  Wliar,  oh  tell  me  whar  ye'll  be,  when  de 
sun  goes  down  neber  mo'  t'  rise  ?" 

The  singers  began  a  dreamy  chanting,  accompanied  by 
the  steady  patting  of  feet,  keeping  time. 

"  Oh,  de  sun  done  rise  t'  set  no  mo" ! 
De  sun  done  rise  t'  set  no  mo' ! 
Upon  dat  resumrection  day." 

"  Who  knoweth  deday  o'  jedgment  ?"  thundered  the 
Mount  Olive  preacher.  "  This  may  be  de  summons,  it 
may  come  now  !  Seize  de  las'  chance  !" 

"  Michael  done  struck  de  dividin'  line 
Straight  fr'in  east  to  west, 
Sheep  on  de  right  han',  goats  on  de  lef  !" 


HOW   UifCLE   JUDAH    "CAME   THROUGH."  121 

sang  the  band  of  brothers  ;  and  the  multitude  took  up  the 
strain,  like  an  army  marching  to  battle  : 

"  De  sun  done  rise  t'  set  no  mo' ! 
T"  set  no  mo' !  t'  set  no  mo'  ! 
Ole  Josh  he  bring  de  son  ob  Nun, 
He  ask  good  Lord  t'  stop  de  sun. 
De  sun  stood  still  'bout  one  half  hour,   " 
An'  de  moon  ran  away  ter  Gabian. 
Oh,  de  sun  done  rise  ter  set  no  ino' ! 
T'  set  no  rno' !  t'  set  no  mo'  !  t'  set  no  mo'  ! 
Oh,  let  my  brudder  go  free,  my  Lord, 
Upon  dat  glor'us  morn  ! 
Oh,  let  my  sister  go  free,  my  Lord, 
Upon  dat  glor'us  morn  ! " 

"  Dar  am  a  few  miz'rable  souls  lef  yere  at  de  fut  ob 
de  altar,  an'  I  can't  b'arter  giv'  'em up  yit,"  wailed  the 
preacher,  in  anguished  accents,  which  spoke  powerfully 
to  every  heart.  "  Come,  frien's,  one  an'  all,  an'  j'ine 
now  wrid  me  ter  rassle  f'r  dese  yer  po'  mo'ners, 
special 'y  fur  Junius  Epps.  Him  done  suah  bin  a  hard 
nut  allers,  a-playin'  wid  de  adversary  all  his  days.  We 
all  knows  him's  a  bran'  mos'  done  burnt  up.  If  de 
debil  done  git  anoder  holt  on  'im  de  gate  ob  ebeiiastin' 
mercy  '11  done  shut  f'reber.  Oh,  spar'  dis  yer  one 
fr'm  de  flames  !  Ko  mo'  hog-stickin',  no  mo'  iightin', 
nor — nor  gleanin*  in  odder  folk's  shocks  o'  wheat  or 
corn. 

ii  O  Lawd  !" — rising  to  his  feet  with  a  tremendous 
shout  of  appeal — "  make  dis  yer  wicked  sinner  a  shinin' 
lamp  f'r  oder  perish' n'  souls.  Oh,  his  hard  heart  suah 
had  oughter  melt  when,  he  'flee'  on.  de  Lam'  dat  wus 
slain  jess  f'r  him  ;  innocent  He  gave  Hisself  f'r  de 
guilty.  Him  not  'bleeged  ter  do  dat,  Junius.  Him 
scorn  ter  lebe  de  country  when  He  knew  de  heatheners 
wus  seek'ii'  f'r  ter  slay  Him.  Him  suah  do  love  de  po' 


122          A   YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN"   VIRGINIA. 

perisli'n'  sinner.  An'  why  won't  yer  kneel  f'r  life  at 
de  feet  dat  stayed  dere  journey  so  's  you  .might  live 
f 'reber  ?  He  holds  de  gate  ob  heaben  wide  open,  an' 
says,  c  Come  through  !  come  through  !  Lo  !  de  day 
light  am  pass'n',  an'  de  night  's  at  han'  ! ' 

At  this  point  Junius  sprang  into  the  air,  and  alighting 
on  his  feet  began  to  jump  and  shout,  while  great  tears 
dropped  from  his  eyes,  and  his  hands  were  seized  and 
shaken  from  all  sides  of  him. 

"  Brudder  Junius  giv'  de  adversary  de  slip  dat  time," 
smiled  the  preacher,  rejoicingly,  amid  the  chanting  : 

"  De  downward  road  am  crowded,  am  crowded  ; 
Oh,  suah  'nough,  dat  road  am  crowded, 
An'  sinner-folks  slip  inter  hell." 


tt 


I  declar',"  ejaculated  Cesar,  wiping  his  streaming 
face,  "  'for'  Judah  Harris  sh'll  go  down  t'  tkat  dreadful 
place  I'll  stay  here  all  night  a-fightirig'  f'r  his  soul,  dat 
I  will!" 

The  rain  descended  in  torrents.  The  thunder  crashed 
short  and  sharp  directly  overhead.  The  lightning  (re 
garded  by  them  as  literally  flashings  of  His  eye)  revealed 
the  terror  seated  on  e^ery  dusky  countenance.  A  huge 
tree  in  the  grove  fell  crashing  to  the  ground. 

And  in  the  pauses  of  the  thunder  peals  wove  strangely 
weird  fancies  of  the  "  resumrecshun  hymn,"  with  its 
mournful  cadence  : 

"  The  sun  done  rise  t'  set  no  mo', 
T'  set  no  mo',  t'  set  no  mo'  ! " 

The  tirade  of  the  preacher  ended.  ' (  Let  us  shout  ter 
His  praise  an'  sing  de  hymn  called  (  Glory,'  "  shouted 
he  in  intense  excitement.  "  I'll  line  it  f'r  ye." 

"  We  sh'll  see  a  light  appear, 
By  an'  by  when  He  comes. 


HOW   UKCLE   JUDAH    "CAME   THROUGH.'*  123 

We  sh'll  see  Him  full  an'  cla'r, 

By  an'  by  when  He  comes. 
Bide  on,  Master,  oh,  ride  on  ! 

We're  on  our  journey  home. 
Lion  ob  Judah,  come  !  Lion  ob  Judah,  come, 

T"  brung  dese  mo'ners  home  !" 

The  hand-shakings  became  a  series  of  electric  jerks  as 
the  entire  body  swayed  to  the  rhythm,  and  shouted 
rather  than  sang. 

And  what  is  this  remarkable  evolution  ?  The  hands  are 
quickly  uplifted  as  if  clutching  at  some  unseen  fabric. 
They  are  "  pulling  a  rope  to  heaben"  and  apparently 
intent  on  reaching  the  happy  portal. 

The  hymn  urges  them  to  renewed  efforts,  as  the 
thunder  peals  louder  than  ever.  A  sunset  gloom  has 
replaced  the  light  of  midday. 

"  Lion  ob  Judah,  come !  Lion  ob  Judah,  come, 
Hasten  ter  brung  us  home  ! ' ' 

gang  the  people. 

And  now  occurred  a  marvel.  At  the  first  mention  of 
his  name  Uncle  Judah,  who  looked  as  if  his  poor  wits 
were  utterly  confused  under  the  pressure  of  so  much 
prayer  and  song,  rose  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  glistening 
with  expectation. 

And  now,  as  the  singers  called  it  anew,  with  frantic 
pullings  at  the  imaginary  rope,  Judah  gave  a  mighty 
bound  into  the  circle,  shouting  : 

"  Here  I  is,  Lawd  !     Here's  old  Judah  !" 

The  thunder,  the  singing,  the  shouting,  the  clapping 
of  hands,  and  sound  of  shuffling  feet  mingled  indiscrimi 
nately  ;  and  over  and  above  the  uproar  could  be  distin 
guished  Uncle  Judah's  resonant  tones,  crying,  "  Glory  ! 
glory  !  glory  !" 

Never  before  had  Uncle  Jud all's  voice  been  uplifted 


134          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

in  song.  But  now  it  seemed  as  if  this  strange  experience 
had  revealed  to  him  the  capacity  for  musical  expression. 
Exultantly  he  shouted  with  the  rest  : 

*'  Then  shall  blaze  earth's  funiral  pyre, 

By  an'  by  when  He  comes. 
We  sh'll  shout  above  de  fire 
By  an'  by  when  He  comes. 
O  Lion  ob  Judah,  come  !  Lion  ob  Judah,  come 
T"  brung  us  home  !  " 

Then,  with  the  rain  still  falling  in  a  gentle  shower 
promising  a  speedy  cessation,  Judah  started  for  the  door, 
without  waiting  to  find  his  hat,  so  eager  was  he  to 
"spread  de  glad  tidin's"  abroad,  to  proclaim  "  on  de 
housen  tops"  the  wonderful  change  that  had  befallen 
himself.  Before  he  could  take  food  or  seek  any  rest  he 
must  make  a  circuit  of  the  neighborhood,  pausing  at 
every  door  to  "  talk  religion."  There  was  no  doubt 
whatever  but  that  Uncle  Judah  had  "  come  through." 

"  It  done  take  de  thunder  an'  de  lightnin'  t'  fotch 
him,  dough,"  said  Cesar  to  Aunt  Dinah,  as  they  went 
homeward. 

,  "  It  did  so,"  she  assented,  laughing  softly.  "  What  a 
leap  dat  was,  Cesar  !  inns'  hab  sprung  mighty  nigh  four 
feet,  I  reck'n." 

"  But,"  she  added,  after  a  thoughtful  pause,  "  when 
de  Lawd  gits  hold  on  us  we're  boun'  ter  jump." 


125 


XY11L 


"  WALL,  Miss  Stone,  Malviny  sed  as  how  she'd  be 
'bleeged  if  you  could  make  it  handy  to  set  up  with 
Stellur  Jane  t' -night.  To  tell  the  truth,  we're  purty 
near  wore  out.  1  ain't  no  great  at  nursing  at  no  time, 
and  't  seems  as  if  my  cough  was  wuss'n  ever  this  fall.  I 
wheeze  so  'f  I  stir  roun'  much  that  1  reely  ain't  good 
frnoth'n'." 

"  Tell  your  wife,  Mr.  Bar  stow,  1  shall  be  glad  to 
come  and  help  her.  And  here  is  this  week's  paper, 
which  you  have  not  read." 

"  Thankee,  gre'tly.  It's  about  all  the  comfort  1  have, 
Miss  Stone,  is  the  reading  you  furnish  me." 

Simeon  tried  to  smile  at  this  frank  avowal,  but  his 
pinched  and  weazened  features  had  taken  on  an  excess  of 
misery  during  the  past  weeks,  and  to  the  teacher  watch 
ing  him,  his  smile  was  as  sad  as  tears  would  have  been. 

Unconsciously  her  voice  grew  soft  and  tender.  "  1  did 
not  know  that  Stella  was  so  low.  1  heard  from  the 
colored  people  that  she  was  f  ailing  a  little.'  " 

"  She's  a-been  a-runnin'  down  all  the  fall.  Seemed 
to  be  aguish  f 'r  a  spell,  and  then  a  sorter  low  fever  laid 
holt  o'  her,  and  now  it's  run  into  the  typhoid  form,  so 
the  doctor  says.  Well,  there,  Miss  Stone,  you  know  1 
don't  think  no  gre't  of  doctors  in  general,  and  if  you 
want  to  know  what  my  opinion  is  of  this  one  in  p'rticu- 
lar — but  I  guess  you'll  find  that  out  from  Malviny." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  have  told  me  sooner  about 
Stella,"  said  the  teacher,  looking  grave. 

u  Oh,  wall,  1  didn't  see  as  there's  any  use  o'  troublin' 


126          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

yon.  1  don't  expect  she'll  pull  through."  He  stood  a 
moment  in  silence,  as  if  uncertain  what  more  to  say. 

"  Wall,  she's  the  last  on  'em — the  girls,  1  mean.  It 
looks  as  lonesome  at  home  as  if  she's  already  gone. 
What  a  likely  little  place  you're  a-gittin'  here.  Miss 
Stone.  1  never  see  anything  so  changed  as  this  land 
has  in  a  couple  of  years,"  and  he  strode  away,  leaving 
Miss  Marian  much  saddened. 

She  was  not  long  in  following  him.  The  sick  girl  had 
been  brought  below,  and  she  occupied  Simeon's  bed,  in 
its  quilt-protected  corner.  By  the  stove,  at  one  end  of 
the  room,  Mrs.  Barstow  was  preparing  supper,  and  the 
fumes  of  some  savory  cookery  floated  out  as  a  greeting 
to  Marian. 

"  The  mortal  suz,  Marun  !  I  told  Sim  I  knowed 
you'd  come  over.  I've  been  broke  o'  my  rest  s'  much 
I'm  pretty  near  used  up,  and  Sim,  too  ;  he's  stuck  it  out 
nobly.  I'll  say  that  f  him."  She  sighed  profoundly. 

"  I  guess  Stellur  Jane  is  as  much  my  child  as  your'n, 
Malviny,"  began  Simeon,  with  a  reproachful  look, 
which  was  entirely  lost  upon  his  wife,  she  being  occupied 
in  explaining  the  peculiar  details  of  her  daughter's  ill 
ness  : 

"  An'  there  !  Marun,  1  wouldn't  give  a  pint  o'  beech 
nuts  f'r  all  the  doctors  in  Virginny,  if  this  Dr.  Garland 
is  a  good  sample  on 'em.  Ketch  'em  up  'n  old  Onta'  a- 
rakin'  down  the  blue  mass  by  the  pint  when  anythin' 
ails  a  body.  They  b'lieve  there  in  buildin'  up  instead 
of  destroyin'  what  little  life  's  left.  Why,  Marun,  it's 
enough  t'  kill  a  well  person  t'  carry  round  that  pizen 
stuff  a-fermentin'  inside." 

"I  reck'n  'f  1  fought  dat  de  doctor  wa'n't  a-doin' 
no  good  termy  chile  I  shouldn't  be  ravin'  roun'  a-gittin' 
him  here  in  de  middle  ob  de  night !"  ejaculated  Jinsy, 


127 

with  some  appearance  of  indignation,  as  she  slowly  waved 
the  cedar  bough  to  and  fro  over  the  bed  to  drive  away 
the  flies. 

Mrs.  Barstow  reflected  :  "Wall,  I've  heerd  Sim  say 
that  when  yer  hoss  was  runnin'  away  down  hill  'twa'n't 
no  time  t'  jump  out  the  waggin.  An'  1  can't  let  sis  die 
without  some  doctor,  good  or  bad,  t'  take  the  r'sponsi- 
bility.  Well  there  !  1  never  had  no  luck  raisin'  girls, 
nohow." 

(i  Dr.  Garl'n'  done  come,''  interrupted  Jinsy.  "  I 
seed  him  ride  by  de  winder.  An'  anoder  one  wid 
him." 

"  He  hitches,  himself,"  sighed  Mrs.  Barstow.  "  He 
looked  so  beat  when  I  went  out  and  offered  t'  hitch  f'r 
him  one  day  that  I  never  offered  to  ag'in.  The  mortal 
suz  !  I  was  in  sech  a  hurry  t'  git  him  a-doct'rin'  sis  I'd 
a-blacked  his  boots  ef  he'd  a  made  tracks  any  faster. 
But  there  !  they  don't  know  how  t'  hurry  in  this 
country.  All  their  ways  are  so  tormented  slow.  But 
there  !  it's  the  way  they're  raised,  I  s'pose,  and  I  don't 
feel  t'  blame  'em  f'r  what  they  can't  help." 

Simeon  smiled  grimly,  as  he  opened  the  door  and  bade 
the  doctors  enter. 

"I  have  brought  my  friend,  Dr.  Failem,  for  coun 
sel,"  and  Dr.  Garland  courteously  grasped  Simeon's 
attenuated  fingers. 

"  The  lawful  suz  !"  sighed  Mrs.  Barstow,  plaintively, 
as  she  softly  laid  one  hard  hand  on  her  daughter's 
tangled  locks.  "  'T won't  do  no  good.  She's  laid  like 
that — kinder  stupid-like — ever  sence  you  left  this 
mornin'." 

"  M',  m',"  murmured  the  c<  counsel,"  after  an  atten 
tive  examination.  And  the  two  disciples  of  Galen  with 
drew  to  the  furthest  corner.  Mrs.  Malvina  strained  her 


128        A  YANKEE  SCHOOL-TEACHEB  IK  VLEGIIUA. 

ears  to  listen  to  the  whispered  consultation  which  fol 
lowed.  "  It's  kill  or  cure,  as  yon  say,"  she  caught,  and 
not  an  additional  word. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  give  my  daughter  calomel, 
doctor,"  said  Simeon,  firmly,  as  they  returned  to  the 
bedside  of  their  patient.  "  Dr.  Garland  will  tell  you 
that  I  have  been  very  decided  ag'inst  her  takin'  that.  I 
want  to  repeat  it  to  you — ' ' 

u  Oh  no,  no,  my  dear  sir  !  Of  course  not  ;  of  course 
not.  As  the  case  is  somewhat  of  a  critical  one — m',  in' 
— thirty-five  days  you  tell  me,  Garland,  it's  run  ? — I 
propose  to  stay  here  with  Dr.  Garland  to-night,  watch 
ing  the  effect  of  our  medicines.  Should  be  gratified,  my 
dear  sir,  if  it  could  be  as  quiet  as  possible.  As  few 
present  as  possible — yes,  as  few." 

Simeon  went  slowly  up  the  ladder  to  Stella's  room. 
Jinsy  placed  her  evergreen  wand  in  Marian's  hand  and 
stole  softly  away.  To  Marian's  entreaties  Mrs.  Barstow 
sighed,  "  I  sha'n't  shet  my  eyes  'f  1  go.  What's  the 
use  o'  goin'  ?" 

She  went,  finally.  After  the  lapse  of  an  hour  she  ap 
peared  on  the  ladder  and  beckoned  Marian.  "  I  lay 
there  an'  thought  o'  everything,  Marun.  Land  sakes  ! 
an'  Sim  a-snorin'  away  like  all  possessed.  "Wall,  he 
never  could  hold  out  as  1  kin.  An'  he  grows  peakeder 
ev'ry  day  sis  lies  there.  Marun,  I  riz  up  t'  ask  you  ef 
you'll  let  me  have  a  sheet  t'  lay  sis  out  in  ?  I  ain't  got 
none  b't  unbleached  factory,  and  ruther  worn  some  on 
'em  is,  too.  She's  got  the  nightgown  you  giv'  her  's  long 
ago  as  you  boarded  here — and  .it'll  come  handy  now — 
been  a-keepin'  out  t'  look  at,  it  was  so  pretty,  she  said  ; 
but,  land  sakes  !  1  knew  she  meant  t'  hold  on  t'  it  f 'r 
fear  she  might  go  off  ruther  sudden  (some  girls  do,  you 
know),  and  then  she'd  have  one  han'some  one.  No, 


129 

there  ain't  nobody  a-beauin'  sis  's  I  knows  on  ;  b't 
there's  a  young  Englishman  over  t'  the  Cut  House  (has  a 
farm  close  by),  an'  he's  been  over  consid'rable  often 
latterly.  Don't  know,  though,  but  it's  because  he's 
lonesome. ' ' 

"Why,  Mrs.  Barstow,"  interrupted  Marian,  much 
shocked,  "  you  can  have  anything  I  possess  if  the 
worst  happens.  But  we  will  hope  that  it  won't." 

"  An'  jest  you  peek  mighty  close  when  they  open 
them  saddlebags,  and  see  what  they  give  sis.  But 
there  !  'twon't  matter  a  grain,  's  I  knows  on."  Her  bare 
feet  ascended  from  Marian's  sight  at  last. 

"  There's  enough  to  kill  a  man,"  she  overheard  Dr. 
Garland  expostulate,  swiftly,  as  she  stole  back  to  her  post 
of  watcher. 

"  I  know  it,  Garland.  But  as  1  told  you  before,  it's 
kill  or  cure.  She'll  die  certainly  if  she  don't  take  it. 
She  may  live  if  she  does." 

And  then  they  laughed  slowly  when  Dr.  Garland  re 
peated  Simeon's  warning.  "  The  old  man  has  been 
harping  on  that  ever  since  1  was  called  to  his  daughter. 
I  said,  *  Oh  no,  certainly  not,'  always,  while  all  the  time 
1  was  giving  powerful  doses  of  calomel  and  quinine. 
But  never  such  potions  as  yours,  my  friend."  And 
then  as  Marian  appeared  they  relapsed  into  attentive 
silence. 

The  long  hours  wore  away,  but  soon  after  midnight 
Mrs.  Malvina  again  descended,  alert  and  fresh  as  the 
coming  morning.  "Sis  is  better,"  she  promptly  said, 
stooping  to  listen  to  her  breathing.  "  I  really  c'n  see  a 
change,  1  b'lieve." 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear  madam,"  said  Dr.  Failem, 
suavely.  "  I  think,  if  no  unusual  complications  arise,  she 
will  recover. ' ' 


130          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

"  Well,  now,  I  can  go  t'  work  with  a  good  heart.  An' 
I'm  goin'  t'  have  breakfast  as  swift  as  ever  you  see  in 
your  life,  Marun.  All  three  of  you  must  be  ravin'  hun 
gry.  Come,  Sim,"  she  called  up  the  ladder.  "If 
you'll  flax  roun'  an'  hunt  up  some  eggs,  I'll  be  'bleeged 
t'  yer  f'r  once.  1  don't  call  on  him  skursly  ever,  an'  he 
knows  it  ;  b't  now  I  guess  he'll  b'  rej'iced  t'  stir  him 
self." 

u  Truth  to  say,  that  ham  and  coffee  does  smell 
mighty  invigorating,"  smiled  Dr.  Garland,  as  he 
stretched  himself  in  his  hard  chair  and  crossed  his  hands 
above  his  head  wearily. 

And  a  merry  enough  party  drew  up  their  chairs 
around  Mrs.  Barstow's  table.  The  unspeakable  dread  of 
the  night  before — the  mysterious  presence  hovering  near 
— had  vanished. 

Marian  was  the  first  to  leave.  "  1  will  come  to-night, 
Mrs.  Barstow,  as  soon  as  school  is  over,"  she  said,  as  she 
disappeared  through  the  doorway. 

"  A  very  sensible  person,  indeed,"  commented  Dr. 
Failem,  as  the  door  closed  upon  her.  "  A  right-down 
sensible  person  !  Never  saw  a  better  nurse  than  she  ap 
peared  to  be  through  the  whole  night." 

"  And  she  looks  as  fresh  as  a  lark  this  morning,  in 
spite  of  it,"  added  his  medical  brother.  "  Very  singu 
lar,  indeed  !" 

"  And  I  just  lit  on  'em,"  observed  Mrs.  Barstow,  when 
relating  the  incident  the  same  evening  to  Marian.  "  I 
asked  'em  if  they  usually  called  the  Miss  Lucys  an' 
Miss  Judys  of  their  acquaintance  '  persons  '  ?  Seemed  t' 
me  I'd  heard  them  addressed  as  c  young  ladies.'  At 
least,  that  was  the  way  Northern  folks  did.  I  said  if 
ever  there  was  a  '  lady  '  our  Marun  was  one." 

"  Yis,  Malviny's   sort   o'  ketched   holt   on  ye,  Miss 


MAMMY    KOSE   AtfD    YELLOW    JOE.  131 

Stone,   and  'tain't  the  fust  time  that  she  has  had  her 
grip  on  other  folkses  prop — " 

u  Now  shet  up,  Sim  Basto  !"  prompt!}7  interjected  his 
spouse  ;  "  don't  begin  on  that  tack  ag'in  !  1  guess 
Marun  has  a-realizin'  sense  o'  my  failin's  by  this  time, 
without  none  o'  your  promptin'." 

Marian  laughed  heartily,  as  Simeon  dryly  added  : 
"  Wall,  yis,  Malviny,  1  ruther  agree  with  ye  this  time, 
and  feel  like  sayin'  i  our  Marun,'  too.  And  1  never  felt 
it  so  difficult  to  keep  from  laughin'  outright  as  when 
Malviny  shook  her  fist  at  them  doctors,  and  Dr.  Fail  em 
(who  didn't  know  her  ways)  set  back  his  cheer,  and 
sprung  to  his  feet  as  if  she'd  threatened  t'  shoot  him." 


XIX. 

MAMMY   KOSE    AND    YELLOW    JOE. 

THE  old  estate  of  "  Stetton  Woods"  lies  in  the  heart 
of  Amelia  County.  For  many  generations  it  had  be 
longed  to  the  Darnells — the  thousands  of  acres  and  hun 
dreds  of  slaves.  It  was  famous  for  the  discipline  the 
latter  were  under,  and  it  was  a  family  boast  that  they  had 
never  had  a  runaway. 

Negroes  from  neighboring  estates  sometimes  arrived, 
bearing  letters  to  "Master  William,"  who  thereupon 
scribbled  a  line,  and  sent  them  with  it  to  his  own  over 
seer. 

At  this  moment  the  bearer  at  once  understood  what 
was  awaiting  him,  and  his  expression  became  pitiable. 


132         A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN    VIRGINIA. 

There  was  no  appeal  ;  there  was  no  relief  ;  there  was  no 
mercy.  Their  own  master  had  sent  them  to  taste  a 
severer  discipline  than  his  own.  There  was  a  good  deal 
to  be  said  in  favor  of  this  discipline — it  made  such  excel 
lent  servants,  such  submissive  plantation  hands.  The 
interchange  of  civilities  in  this  line  were  not  rare,  were 
promptly  accepted  and  cheerfully  executed. 

Young  Joe  remembered  seeing  many  such  punishings. 
Aunt  Rose,  his  mammy,  was  the  family  nurse,  and  her 
cabin  was  only  a  few  rods  from  u  the  great  house."  She 
had  brought  up  two  generations  of  children,  and  she 
looked  scarcely  older  than  when  "  Mas'r  Willum's" 
first  baby-boy  was  put  in  her  kindly  arms.  The  love 
she  bore  the  master's  children  seemed  of  an  intenser  sort 
than  for  her  own  offspring.  In  addition  to  love  of  the 
true  maternal  sort,  she  gave  them  reverence.  In  all 
cases  of  dispute  between  them,  if  appealed  to,  she  was 
sure  to  decide  summarily  against  her  own. 

One  day  she  came  upon  little  Joe  with  a  fine  comb, 
putting  forth  his  utmost  strength  to  reduce  his  woolly 
locks  to  order.  Mammy  threw  back  her  head  and 
laughed  :  "  See  'im  now,  dat  aggervatin'  pickaninny  ! 
him  done  t'ink  t'  make  silky  curls  like  Miss  Lucy's,  or 
wavy  ha'r  like  Mas'r  Percy's.  Ef  ye  try  till  de  jedg- 
ment  day  obertakes  yer,  't  neber  c'n  be  done,  chile. 
Let  'em  go  'cordin'  t'  nature.  Nobody  '11  notice  little 
Joe." 

Father,  Joe  could  not  remember.  In  answer  to  an 
inquiry  in  his  earliest  years,  Mammy  Eose  told  him  that 
he  had  never  had  one.  Joe  was  "  raised  "  with  the 
white  children.  They  played  together,  quarrelled,  and 
"  made  up"  in  mammy's  cabin  exactly  as  if  they  were 
children  of  one  family.  It  was  the  custom  for  the  negro 
children  who  were  born  on  the  same  day  as  the  white 


MAMMY   ROSE   AND   YELLOW   JOE.  133 

children  to  become  their  exclusive  property.  In  the 
days  of  playing  and  quarrelling  this  condition  of  servi 
tude  weighed  lightly.  To  be  sure,  mammy  sent  him  to 
pick  up  chips,  or  to  "  tote  de  bucket  to  de  spring,"  and 
she  never  cuffed  his  playmates  as  she  did  his  rebellious 
self. 

When  master  William  returned  from  any  journey  he 
never  forgot  to  bring  presents  for  little  Joe  as  well  as 
for  the  other  children.  And  when  the  children  crowded 
around,  with  merry  cries  of  "  Papa  !  papa  !"  Yellow 
Joe  crowed  also,  and  clapped  his  little  palms  together, 
and  shouted  "  Papa  I" 

The  stately  mistress  frowned  at  this,  and  would  have 
sent  him  away,  but  the  master  only  laughed  and  cried, 
"  Here,  Joe,  give  the  'possum  call,  and  I'll  toss  you  this 
cake." 

But  those  merry  days  of  childhood  were  long  since 
over.  When  young  Percy  grew  larger  and  went 
to  school,  Yellow  Joe  was  his  especial  servant. 

It  was  a  puzzle  to  Joe  why  there  should  be  no  school 
for  himself.  He  was  quicker  to  learn  than  his  little 
master,  more  lithe  and  active  ;  in  all  out-door  games  he 
was  more  than  Percy's  match.  Once  he  ventured  on 
these  mysterious  questions  to  Mammy  Rose,  who 
answered  impressively  : 

u  Don't  yer  know,  den,  chile,  dat  niggers  ain't  'lowed 
fur  t'  1'arn  outeii  books  ?  O  Lawd  !"  she  groaned,  in 
recollection,  "  de  heaps  o'  mis'ry  dese  ole  eyes  hab 
seen  jess  on  dat  yar  'count  !  I  seen  a  man  hobbled  to 
de  groun'  wid  wooden  pins — dey  was  crotches  cut  from 
trees — an'  he  was  whipped  so's  he  done  couldn't  staii' 
'lone  !" 

"  But  why  ?  tell  me  why,  mammy  ?  I  can't  help 
learnin'  when  I  hear  Percy  an'  Lucy  talk  'bout  dar 


134          A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

less'ns.  I  seems  t'  cotch  holt  'thout  tryin'.  An'  when 
I  tried  yistiddy  t'  s' plain  t'  Lucy — 'case  she  cried  ober 
it  so — Percy  done  tell  me  ter  shut  up  my  hade.  Why  ? 
I  mus*  know  why,  mammy  !" 

"  Oh,  yis,"  muttered  Mammy  Rose,  dolefully,  "  Mas'r 
Percy,  my  sweet  boy,  done  learn  dat  less'n  well.  He 
quite  masterful  a' ready.  It's  in  de  breed.  All  de 
Darnells  hab  got  mighty  strong  will,  Joe.  Jess  yer 
'member  dat.  An'  why  don't  yer  call  him  Mas'r 
Percy  ?  Yerb'longs  t'  him,  yer  'members.  Yer  his  by 
right  eber  sence  yer  was  born.  An'  don't  y'  try  t'  1'arn 
in  ore 'n  yer  c'n  help — 'tain't  good  f'r  ye. 

"  Dat  am  what  Mas'r  Bark'ly  say  in  de  Grub  Hill 
Church,  whar  de  ivy  does  clamb'r  mos'  beautiful.  He 
done  preach  Mas'r  Lewis's  fun'ralsarmon.  Mas'r  Lewis 
'd  been  dead  goin'  on  sixteen  year  when  de  word  was 
sent  t'  de  house  dat  de  bery  nextest  Sunday  him  was 
gwine  t'  preach  his  pa's  fun'ral  sarmon.  I  neber  f'rgot 
dat  yer  sarmon,  Joe." 

"  I  disremember, "  said  Joe,  somewhat  sullenly. 

Mammy  laughed  and  reached  up  for  her  red  clay  pipe, 
which  she  leisurely  filled  with  bits  of  tobacco  ;  then  she 
stooped  to  rake  a  coal  from  the  fire  which  always 
smouldered  on  the  hearth — in  the  summer-time  as  well 
as  the  winter — and  between  the  vigorous  puffs  she 
brought  forth  the  remainder  of  her  story  : 

"  Dat  was  long  an'  long  'nough  'fore  you  kim  t' 
plague  ole  Rose.  Mas'r  Lewis  was  as  like  t'  his  son 
Willum  as  two  p'simmons.  Mas'r  Bark'ly  wus  a 
pow'ful  good  preacher,  I  'spect — too  gran',  though,  f'r  us 
po'  slave-folks.  We  house  servants  was  all  done  sot 
up  'n  de  gal'ry  ('twas  full,  I  'member)  a-lis'nin'  t'  all  de 
good  t'ings  he  made  out  dat  Mas'r  Wi Hum's  pa  was. 
An'  de  frien's  all  'pear  t'  be  pow'ful  mournin',  'case 


MAMMY    ROSE   AKD   YELLOW   JOE.  135 

lie  been  in  de  grave  s'  long.  An'  at  las'  Mas'r 
Bark'ly,  him  preach  straight  'cross  t'  us :  6  Ef  yer's 
good  an'  'bedient  t'  yer  master  yere  y'll  get  t'  heaven's 
kitchen  when  y'  die  ;  ye  may  'pend  on  it.'  An'  he 
p'inted  his  white  han',  all  shi-mn'  wid  rings,  at  us  black 
folks.  '  You  ar'  not  t'run  'g'inst  yer  master's  will  ; 
yon  ar' t'  serve  him  faithful  an'  tru'.  Ye  mus'n't  long  f'r 
f'rbidden  fruits  ;  learnin'  isn't  good  f'r  ye.  Ef  it  had 
been,  de  Lawd  would  a-made  y'  t'  know  jess  as  much  as 
de  white  folks.  An'  he  done  say  a  mighty  long  word — 
more'n  an  inch  long  —  which  I  done  try  so  hard  t' 
'member  dat  I  f'rgot  it  'fore  I  lef  de  church,  but  dis 
yer  I'll  neber  f  rgit — he  was  so  solemn-like  a-sayin'  it — 
4  ye'll  git  ter  heaven's  kitchen  ef  you  are  good  an'  faith 
ful  servants  yere.' 

"  Well,"  added  Mammy  Rose,  composedly  knocking 
the  ashes  from  her  pipe,  and  smoothing  her  turban  over 
her  knee,  "  I  reck'n  when  Mas'r  Lewis  done  meet  ole 
Rose  dar  he  won't  grudge  ter  gib  his  han'  in  welcome." 
And  she  rearranged  her  turban,  leisurely. 

Mammy  Rose  noticed  that  after  this  conversation 
Yellow  Joe,  as  he  was  called  on  account  of  his  bright 
complexion,  concealed  his  passion  for  "  white  folks' 
learning  ;"  that  he  invariably  addressed  his  young  master 
by  his  title,  whom  he  was  assiduous  in  serving.  It 
seemed,  indeed,  as  if  Joe  was  more  active  and  willing 
and  merry  than  before,  and  good-natured  Mammy  Rose 
smiled  to  herself  often. 


136          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 


XX. 


JOE   WEITES    HIS   NAME   IN   DUST. 

ONE  morning  Percy  Darnell,  a  handsome  young  boy 
of  fifteen,  came  suddenly  into  the  dining-room  and  sur 
prised  his  servant  tracing  characters  on  the  dust  which 
lay  on  the  polished  surface  of  the  table. 

"  You  boy  !  where'd  you  learn  to  write  ?"  he 
demanded,  astonished.  "  Who  taught  you  ?" 

"  No  one,  Mas'r  Percy.  It  come  of  itself,  like.  I 
jess  can't  help  doin'  it,  it's  so  easy." 

"  Can  you  not  ?  Doubtless  you  can  read,  too.  Perhaps 
Latin  and  Greek  are  familiar  to  you  !"  Percy's  eyes 
flashed  ominously. 

"  Not  a  word  o'  clem,  Mas'r  Percy!  I  wouldn't 
know  'em  on  no  'count."  Joe's  face  whitened  visibly  as 
he  caught  the  gleam  of  his  young  master's  eyes. 

"  I  don't  believe  you,  Joe.  You're  only  afraid  to 
own  up.  Plere,"  catching  a  volume  from  the  shelf  near, 
"  if  you  don't  read  a  page  from  that  book,  instantly,  I'll 
have  you  whipped  as  sure  as  you  are  born  !" 

Joe's  fingers  trembled  as  he  took  the  book.  He  read 
a  page  promptly.  Then  it  dropped  to  the  floor  with 
a  bang,  and  he  clasped  his  young  master's  arm  im 
ploringly  : 

"  Oh,  Mas'r  Percy,  I'll  neber  read  no  mo'  !  I'll  neber 
write  no  mo'  !  I  swar  t'  yer  I  won't  ef  ye'll  frgit  dis 
yer  time  !' ' 

(i  Poh,  Joe,  no  call  to  be  frightened.  I  haven't 
threatened  you.  Mighty  pity  t'  spoil  so  good-looking 
a  nigger  !  What  shapely  hands  you've  got,  Joe  ;  they're 


JOE   WRITES   HIS   NAME  IN   DUST.  137 

not  working  hands."  lie  turned  and  left  the  room, 
carelessly  whistling  a  tune. 

But  that  evening  Joe  was  sent  to  the  overseer's 
"  quarters"  on  some  trivial  errand,  and  when  he  skulked 
into  Mammy  Rose's  cabin  that  night  he  had  lost  his  right 
forefinger. 

"  I  done  tell  ye,  chile  !  Mammy  tole  ye  t'  let  white 
folks'  1'arnin'  alone  !"  sobbed  Rose,  as  she  bruised  heal 
ing  herbs  and  bound  it  up. 

"  I'll  run  away,"  said  Joe,  in  a  sullen  whisper. 

"  An'  hab  de  bloodhoun's  let  loose  ?"  whispered  back 
his  mother,  an  awful  fear  wrinkling  her  face. 

But  the  years  rolled  away. 

"  De  drefful  war  done  come  t'  clean  out  our  housen 
stuff,"  as  mammy  phrased  it.  In  that  Yirginian  house 
hold  the  martial  spirit  was  kindled  from  the  first.  The 
master  was  in  the  field  early.  And  as  time  went  on,  and 
the  supplies  were  scarce,  and  the  blockade  grew  stronger, 
the  best  of  everything  raised  on  the  plantation  went  to 
the  army.  Stuff  was  woven  for  the  soldiers'  suits  ; 
horses,  mules,  and  provisions  found  their  way  thither. 

Miss  Lucy,  now  a  lovely  and  bitter-tongued  "  pa 
triot,"  had  the  large  stores,  in-doors,  ransacked  from 
time  to  time,  as  the  cries  for  help  for  the  suffering  army 
reached  her  ears. 

"All  mistress'  cov'lets  gone  t'  de  sodjers  !"  indig 
nantly  ejaculated  Mammy  Rose.  "  Her  dead  ma's 
beaut'fullest  blue  an'  white  cov'let,  an'  de  double  rose 
one  dat  ole  Sally  was  nigh  three  months  a-weavin' ,  de 
lin'n  what  I  done  help  bleach  f'r  her  ma  when  missy 
was  a  baby,  all  scraped  up  inter  lint — sech  heaps  an' 
piles  'f  't  !  'Twas  mighty  good  in  Missy  Lucy,  I  s'pose 
— least  dat  what  de  kunnel  an'  de  res'  say — b't  ole 
Rose  what  raised  de  chile  t'ink  it  am  a  burnin'  shame  t' 


138          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

spile  good  t'ings  so.  An'  whar's  her  sett'n'  out  t'  come 
fr'm  now  ?  Dey  can't  b'  made  in  ages,  an'  dar's  no 
money  now  t'  buy  no  mo'  !" 

But  Mammy  Eose's  indignant  expostulations  availed 
not  against  the  need  of  the  army,  and  when  the  old 
family  coach  went  to  Eichmond  to  be  sold — the  money 
therefore  to  be  sent  after  all  the  other  goods — the  faith 
ful  old  nurse  was  speechless  with  affright  at  the  sacrilege. 
"  De  kerri'ge  dat  all  de  Darnells  done  ride  to  dar  wed- 
din's  in  ;  dat  hab  carried  de  ladies  to  de  gran'  dinners 
an'  junketin's  eber  sence  Eose  was  a  pickaninny  herself  ! 
Miss  Lucy  say  dat  ef  de  cause  s'ceed,  why  dey'll  jess  git 
mo'  right  soon,  an'  she  'spects  'twill  s'ceed,  suah,  'tis 
sech  a  rachus  cause,  she  say.  But  I  dunno.  Don't 
seem  right  t'  me — don't  seem  right." 

And  then  came  the  sadness  that  crept,  shudderingly, 
into  so  many  households  throughout  the  land.  The 
fierce  heat  of  battle-passion  spent,  ah  me  !  what  remains 
for  the  home-group  above  which  the  pall  of  desolation 
spreads  ? 

There  was  no  time  to  count  losses  then.  There  was 
no  time  for  idle  wailing.  There  was  scarcely  time  to 
bury  the  dead.  Action  !  action  !  And  the  young  of 
the  race — two  boys  of  seventeen  and  nineteen  years — lef t 
Sister  Lucy  trying  to  smile  bravely,  as  she  sped  them 
away  from  her  — one  brother  to  return  no  more. 

When  Lieutenant  Percy  turned  soldier  he  took  his  ser 
vant  with  him.  Joe  was  elated  at  the  stirring  sights  and 
sounds.  His  bright,  active  ways  made  him  a  favorite 
with  all.  He  was  silent,  reticent  before  the  soldiery, 
who  were  fond  of  carousing  over  their  camp-fires,  hear 
ing  everything  and  putting  things  together,  and  espe 
cially  listening  to  every  scrap  of  intelligence  concerning 
the  Northern  army. 


JOE   WRITES  HIS   NAME   IN   DUST.  139 

It  was  the  eleventh  of  July,  and  Jubal  Early  lay  be 
fore  the  fortifications  covering  the  Northern  approaches  to 
Washington.  There  was  great  excitement  in  the  camp,, 
and  eager  boasts  of  the  morrow.  There  would  be  "  a 
little  fighting,"  a  dash,  an  army  retreating,  and  one 
advancing  triumphantly  into  the  poorly-defended  na 
tional  capital. 

Yellow  Joe  shared  this  excitement  of  the  camp.  His 
plans  were  better  laid  than  Early' s,  and  when  evening 
shadows  lengthened  into  dusk  Yellow  Joe  was  among 
the  Yankees. 

In  the  following  years  Joe's  growth  was  rapid.  The 
plantation  ways  slowly  slipped  from  him.  He  found  no 
difficulty  in  obtaining  work,  and  in  his  spare  hours  he 
studied  diligently. 

All  this  so  long  ago  !  why,  it  seemed  to  him  only  as 
yesterday.  And  when  he  reflected  that  he  had  served 
in  the  u  House  of  Delegates,"  among  the  sons  of  those 
white  men  who  once  would  have  scourged  him  with 
thorns  for  thus  presuming,  he  could  not  help  a  pleasur 
able  vanity  at  the  new  order  of  things.  But  he  hated 
Percy  Darnell,  because  "  the  new  order"  was  sullenly 
acquiesced  in.  Percy  thought  it  practically  impossible 
to  meet  his  former  slave  on  terms  of  perfect  equality, 
and  this  attitude,  together  with  the  remembrance  of 
former  wrongs,  fostered  the  ill-feeling  between  the  two 
rival  candidates  for  the  Legislature. 

As  Joe  went  onward  this  October  evening  to  the 
political  meeting  in  his  neighborhood,  his  mind  reverted 
to  many  points  of  antagonism,  past  but  still  poignant. 


\ 

140         A  YANKEE  SCHOOL-TEACHER  IK  VIRGINIA. 


XXI. 

A   POLITICAL   MEETING. 

IT  was  seven  o'clock,  and  the  schoolhouse  was  open. 
A  few  white  men  were  present,  among  them  Josiah 
Crittenden  and  Simeon  Barstow  (who  styled  himself  "  the 
Northern  refugee  !")  ;  the  remainder  were  of  every 
shade  of  color,  from  ebony  to  white. 

Good-natured  banter  was  plentiful,  and  indulgently 
received  :  "  Well,  I  reck'n  thar'll  b'  some  right  sharp 
speak'n'  yere  t' -night.  I  reck'n  yer've  got  sharp'ned 
up  'nough  t'  shave  a  cow,  Brother  Edwin." 

"I  dunno  'bout  de  cow,  Uncle  Cesar,  b't  I  reck'n 
I'm  right  peart  nough  t'  shave  a  hog,"  replied  Edwin, 
promptly,  amid  cheers  and  cries  from  the  younger  ones 
of  "  Whar's  dat  yerhog  ?" 

"  Why,  in  de  pen,  suah,"  returned  Edwin,  coolly. 
"  You  young  uns  mus'  done  let  de  shoats  alone,  or  y'll 
be  done  fetched  up  'n  de  penimtention'ry.  Dat  am  so, 
cert'n  's  yer  born." 

A  loud  laugh  greeted  this  sally.  Junius  Epps,  whose 
reputation  in  this  line  was  notorious,  subsided  into  the 
crowd  behind  him. 

"  Dis  yer  meet'n'  '11  come  t'  order,"  resumed 
Edwin,  placidly  smiling.  (t  I  dispose  dat  we  'lect 
Brother  Willum  Dixy  chairman  'thout  no  fuss  ;  we 
done  wants  t'  git  t'  work  's  soon  's  we  kin." 

"  Dat's  so  !"  shouted  several  voices,  and  William,  an 
aged  and  stately  mulatto,  was  beckoned  forward. 

"If  I'm  cheerman  ob  dis  meet'n',  I  done  call  on 
Brother  Thomas  ober  dar  in  de  corner  t'  op'n  it  wid 
prayer." 


A  POLITICAL  MEETING.  141 

Thomas  shook  his  gray  head,  and  motioned  in  turn  : 
"  Brother  Bobbins,  you  pray." 

u  Bet  I  dunno,  Brother  Thomas,  as  it's  my  dooty," 
replied  Moses  Robbins,  in  his  slow  way  ;  "  dey  called  on 
you,  an'  I  dunno  as  it's  my  dooty." 

u  Yes,  yes,  you  pray." 

"Well,  den,  I'se'will'n',  b't  I  dunno  'ait's  my 
dooty." 

Moses  straightened  himself  slowly  and  rested  on[  his 
hickory  staff. 

"  O  our  Fadder  which  art  in  heaben,  hallowed  be  dy 
name  !  We  am  met  t'gedder  dis  ebenin'  t'  c'nsider 
what  sort  o'  men  we'll  'lect  t'  rule  ober  us.  We  know 
bery  well  dat  we  heap  rudder  hab  a  stiff  'Publican  dan 
any  ob  de  slipp'ry  sorts  leadin'  us  away  from  de  straight 
an'  narrer  way  we  wants  ter  foller.  We  'member,  good 
Lawd,  dat  under  dee  dey  gave  us  po'  blacks  our  free 
dom.  We  done  feels  like  trustin'  dem  still.  B't,  O  our 
Fadder,  der's  some  so  snaky  dat  we  feels  iike  wip'n'  'em 
out  wid  de  grubb'n'  hoe,  like  we  do  de  sassafras  roots 
'  long  de  branches.  We  done  c'n't  trus'  'em  an  inch.  We 
know  dat  we  mus'  take  sech  rulers  as  we  c'n  git  in  dese 
yere  ingen'rate  days,  f'r  de  c'nfusion  am  gre't.  We 
leave  it  all  in  dy  han's  !  Do  dou  sen'  a  good  man  t' 
make  laws  f'r  us,  who'll  hab  dy  fear  'n  his  heart — much 
's  he  kin,  anyway  !  Gib  us  an  undiscoursin'  sperit,  dat 
we  may  tell  de  tricky  ones  from  de  troo,  an'  not  trus' 
eb'ry  white  man  dat  seeks  t'  bamboozle  our  po'  souls, 
nor  yit  t'  eb'ry  colored  brudder  who  don't  know  'nougli 
t'  lead  hisself  home  o'  nights  fr'm  de  sto'.  Dar's 
Crocket  Gibs'n — we  don't  want  him!  Put  his  light 
under  de  bush' 1  measure,  Lawd,  an'  we'll  gib  dee  all  de 
praise  f'reber." 

"  Dar's  only  one  fault  t'  be  found  wid  Brudder  Rob- 


142          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

bins's  pray'rs — dey  tells  us  our  dooties  mos'  too  clus," 
observed  the  chairman,  graciously.  "  We'll  listen  now 
t'  remarks  fr'm  Brudder  Edwin." 

"  De  case  am  right  plain,"  said  Edwin,  quickly  re 
sponding.  "  De  Flinders,  dey  wants  ter  keep  on  wid  de 
pow'r  dey  has,  an'  t'  git  mo'.  De  trouble  am  dat  dey 
don't  favor  de  free  schools.  Dey've  allers  been  sot 
'g'inst  us  po'  black  folks  a-knowin'  how  t'  take  keer  o' 
ourselfs.  Dat  am  a  fac'  !  Yer  knows  all  dat  widout  my 
tell'n'.  De  ole  'Serv'tive  party  goes  f  r  t'  split  up  us 
'Public'ns  all  it  kin.  Now  yere's  Mr.  Percy  Darnell, 
what  am  mighty  anxious  you  should  send  him  to  Kich- 
rnon'  dis  winter.  He's  t'  speak  t'  yer  hisself  pres'ntly, 
an'  y'll  hear  his  side.  B't  ye  won't  go  f'r  t'  sen'  him, 
my  brethren  !  he'll  done  take  colored  votes  as  fas'  as 
y'll  'low,  suah  !  Oh,  yis,  iny  frien's  !  an'  dat  am  all  he 
wants  ob  ye  anyway.  He's  a  Funder.  Oh,  ob  course  ! 
B't  dat  am  not  jess  de  dejection  we  hab  t'  him  f'r  t' 
make  laws  f'r  us.  It's  'case  he's  a  frien'  t'  us  only  t' 
serve  hisself.  'Member  dat,  if  you  please.  It  arn  true 
eb'ry  time." 

Cries  of  indignation  arose.  "  But  ye  re  am  Yellow  Joe 
now.  De  Hon'rable  Yellow  Joe — dat  am  de  name 
we'll  stick  ter.  We  knows  him  bes'  by  dat.  He's  one 
ob  us,  suah  !  An'  in  de  matter  dat  de  white  folks  count 
on — eddication — he  am  cl'ar  ahead  o'  Mr.  Percy  Darnell 
— like  de  'possum  when  he  done  run  up  a  tree  an'  leave 
de  dogs  at  de  root. 

"  Dar's  allers  been  'nough  money  appurperated  eb'ry 
year  t'  keep  up  de  schools  an'  pay  de  teachers.  Dat  am 
a  livin'  fac'.  Whar,  den,  did  all  de  money  go  to  ?"  His 
voice  rose  with  solemn  emphasis.  "  It  done  went  inter 
de  mighty  bulgin'  pocket  ob  de  ole  C'nserv'tive  party 
who  done  raised  de  funds.  ~No  wonder  dat  dey  styles. 


A    POLITICAL   MEETING.  143 

demselves  de  Funders  !  Dey  done  gits  all  de  funds,  an' 
dey  keeps  all  de  funds.  Course  dey  am  Funders,  suah 
'nough  !"  Shouts  of  approbation  arose,  and  cries,  "  Giv' 
'em  some  mo'  !" 

"  De  bery  p'lite  an'  able  go V nor  mus'  hab  his  sal'ry, 
let  who  will  go  widout.  Dar  was  s'  much  fundin',  dat 
when  he  come  f 'r  t'  draw  his  pay  de  treas'ry  is  declar'd 
empty.  Well,  dat  won't  do  nohow,  he  say  t'  hisself. 
I'm  de  gov'nor,  an'  mus'  hab  my  funds — de  common 
wealth  owes  me  dat,  it  do.  Dar's  de  school-fund.  De 
teachers  inns'  go  widout  if  any  one — dere  am  twice  as 
many  schools  as  we  oughter  hab,  anyhow.  An'  in  goes 
his  han'  t'  fund  f 'r  hisself  a  few  thousand  dollars  of  the 
appurperashun  raised  f 'r  t'  pay  de  teachers  ob  de  free 
schools. 

"  Dat  yere  Miss  Mary  on  got  only  quarter  ob  her  year's 
pay.  An'  so  'twas  wid  odder  teachers  ;  de  fus'  t'  come 
t'  pr'sent  dere  cla'ms  got  de  mos',  ob  course.  Dat  am 
what  fundin'  means,  my  frien's,  an'  dat's  de  bery  way 
de  Funders  mean  f'r  t'  pay  de  State  debt." 

"  1  declar',"  interrupted  Thomas  Gibson,  rising  to 
his  full  height,  and  shaking  violently  one  lean  fore 
finger,  "  1  does  like  t'  see  a  man  stick  t'  his  principles  ; 
dat's  what  1  allers  will  say — stick  t'  'em  !  Ef  he's  a 
straight-out  ' Public' n,  why  stay  so,  an'  not  b'  foolin' 
roun'  wid  either  Readjuster  or  Funder." 

ct  Step  right  up  here,  Brudder  Thomas,  you're  de 
bery  man  I  wants  t'  see.  I've  got  your  name  right 
down  in  dis  little  book  yere,"  pulling  one  from  his 
pocket.  "  How  'bout  dat  little  ten  dollars  you  took  las' 
'lection  an'  voted  f  r  de  'Serv'tive  candidate  ?  Oh,  yes, 
my  frien's,  I  likes  f'r  a  man  t'  stick  t'  his  principles  !" 

Thomas  edged  away  from  the  speaker,  who  continued  : 
"  An3  you  too,  Brudder  Junius,  speak  up  now  an'  tell 


144         A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA, 

us  all  'bout  dat  ole  Funder  barVcue  you  'tended  de 
odder  day  !  Any  party  c'n  git  yer  po'  ole  body  by 
giv'in'  a  slice  o'  ham  an'  a  whiskey  toddy  at  a  barb'cue. 
YiSj  an'  a  right  down  peart  dinner  o'  roast  shoat  an' 
hom'ny  an'  de  odder  fixin's  will  buy  yer,  body  an*  soul. 
Fac'  ! 

"  B't  1  done  reck'n  dat  he's  got  'nough  Funder  bar 
b'cue  t'  las'  him  till  de  jedgment.  Oh  yes,  my  frien's, 
gran'  barb'cue,  brass  band  fr'm  Richmon',  percessions, 
great  ovation,  so  dey  said. 

"  But  dey  fooled  de  crowd.  De  barb'cue  ran  short  o' 
eatin'  stuff  ;  de  brass  band  was  a  drum  an'  a  battered 
ole  bugle  ;  de  percession  was  about  two  hundred 
mounted  men,  an'  seventy-two  ob  dem  was  boys  under 
age,  an'  mos'  ob  dem  rode  mools — sech  a  chance  o' 
mools  !—  de  rackedest  ole  creeturs  dat  eber  went  f'r  t' 
sell  dere  vote  f  r  a  miz'ble  mess  o'  pottage  ! 

"  An'  now  I'll  gib  way  f'r  t'  hear  fr'm  de  Hon'rable 
Percy  Darnell."  Edwin  stepped  aside  amid  great 
cheering. 

"It  done  'pear  t'  me"  modestly  observed  Cesar 
Peachy,  "  dat  we  don't  need  f'r  t'  hear  any  'Serv'tive 
talk.  It'll  sort  o'  obfuse  our  rain's  ;  we've  done  got 
jess  's  much  's  we  c'n  hoi'  now." 

Yellow  Joe  stepped  out  from  the  throng,  confident  and 
radiant.  This  was  the  contest  that  he  delighted  in.  "  1 
pray  you,  my  friends,  by  all  means  hear  what  Mr. 
Darnell  has  to  say.  You  must  hear  both  sides  to  be 
able  to  judge  well.  Remember  that  I  have  the  closing 
speech  to  make,  and  I  promise  not  to  confuse  you  in  the 
least." 

Mr.  Darnell  then  quietly  reviewed  the  previous  argu 
ment,  dwelling  at  great  length  on  the  State's  indebted 
ness,  and  closing  with  :  "  I  wish  to  say,  plainly,  that  the 


A   POLITICAL   MEETING.  145 

Conservatives  do  acknowledge  the  debt,  and  not  a  por 
tion  of  it,  like  your  allies,  the  Readjusters. " 

Yellow  Joe  came  forward  and  said,  with  some  elation  : 
"  The  honorable  speaker  has  only  been  heating  water  ; 
it  is  now  hot,  and  I  only  ask  for  ten  minutes  t'  scald  the 
hog.  I  don't  care  a  green  persimmon  about  your 
Funder  '  acknowledgment.'  You  don't  pay  a  cent  of  it, 
and  what  is  more,  you  don't  mean  to.  You,  my 
brethren,  all  know  the  gentleman  well.  I  mean  you 
shall  know  him  better.  God  knows  /  know  him,  by 
this  token" — holding  up  his  mutilated  right  hand. 
"  And  why  should  you  colored  folks  affiliate  with  the 
old  Conservative  party  ?  It's  the  same  old  party  that 
kept  you  in  bondage — not  the  one  that  struck  off  your 
shackles  and  placed  this  ballot  in  your  hands  as  a  safe 
guard  against  them. 

"  Why  should  any  of  you  be  Flinders  ?  1  will  tell 
you.  Some  of  you  are  Funders  because  some  white 
man  they  toady  to  is  one.  Some  few  because  they  think 
it's  right ;  that  sort  haven't  brains  enough  to  distinguish 
between  right  and  wrong.  Some  because  they  are 
scared  about  white  folks'  talk  of  Mahone  and  his  pur 
pose.  They  are  easily  scared.  A  white  sheet  and 
moonlight  is  more  than  enough  to  manufacture  the 
wickedest  sort  of  a  ghost.  Some  are  bought — and  that 
is  the  meanest  class  of  all  !  Lord  save  dar  souls  in  'lec 
tion  time,  f'r  they  haven't  strength  f'r  t?  take  keer  o' 
themselves."  Yellow  Joe  was  getting  'c  warmed  up  to 
his  work,"  as  his  dropping  into  dialect  showed.  Only 
when  greatly  moved  did  his  tongue  revert  to  the  simple 
speech  of  his  race. 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  brethren"— a  fine  scorn  wrinkling  his 
face— "  you  know  him!  How  he  put  his  name  on  a 
Republican  ticket  four  years  ago.  Your  votes  put  him 


146          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

into  the  Legislature  ;  your  votes  made  him  what  he  is. 
He  has  been  Tax-Collector  and  School-Commissioner. 
Before  you  took  him  up  on  your  broad,  toil-worn  hands 
and  landed  him  in  offices  of  trust,  what  was  he  ?  Because 
his  name  has  been  on  your  ticket  you  simpletons  sup 
posed  him  a  Republican.  He  is  anything  to  gain  office. 
He  became  a  Readjuster  for  a  brief  time,  but  failing 
to  get  the  good  things  the  gods  provide,  he  turned  to  the 
Funders.  1  am  going  to  tell  you  of  the  bargains  he 
made  at  headquarters.  To  fool  you,  who  cannot  read,  he 
is  to  lead  your  vote  to  swell  the  vote  of  the  old  party. 
They  want  t'  split  up  our  ticket  so  it  won't  carry  the 
day. 

"  March  up  and  pay  your  taxes,  if  it  takes  the  last 
dollar,  an'  don't  you  let  anybody  do  it  for  you  /" 

Much  more  talk  of  this  kind  the  colored  men  could 
not  endure.  There  was  a  movement  among  the  younger 
men.  Simeon  Barstow  muttered  that  it  "  was  a  warm 
night  for  the  season,"  and  he  "  guessed  "  he'd  "  better 
be  a-gittin'  hum." 

And  Josiah  Crittenden  "  reckoned  "  he  would  "  git 
shet  o'  the  meet'n'.  Ry'lene  was  ruther  skeery  'bout 
hants  an'  sich  trash."  Several  white  men  followed 
their  example. 

Then  began  a  remarkable  scene  among  the  blacks — 
rivalling  their  religious  meetings  in  fervor — approaching 
frenzy.  Several  wished  to  speak  at  once.  A  few  took 
sides  with  the  Hon.  Percy,  but  the  majority  scowled 
dissatisfaction,  and  muttered  ominously. 

Yellow  Joe,  seeing  the  storm  he  had  raised  likely  to 
become  perilous,  sought  to  ease  his  remarks  of  their 
peculiar  sting.  But  it  was  too  late.  Nobody  appeared 
to  hear  him. 

Percy  Darnell  edged  cautiously  toward  the  open  door. 


A   POLITICAL  MEETING.  147 

"  Now  for  it  !"  he  said  to  himself,  suddenly  vanishing 
from  sight  of  the  angry  crowd,  who  poured  out  after  him 
in  hot  pursuit. 

"  Well,  den,  I  do  hope  dose  young  fools  won't  skeer 
de  bref  outen  Mas'r  Percy,"  remarked  old  Cesar,  as 
he  trod  cautiously  homeward,  in  company  with  Judah 
Harris. 

"  He  done  git  outer  sight  de  quickest  I  eber  see  him," 
laughed  Uncle  Judah.  "  Him  so  nat 'rally  lazy  dat'll 
do  him  good  t'  git  shooken  up  a  bit.  Dey  only  'tend  f 'r 
t'  skeer  him  ;  dey  wouldn't  tech  a  ha'r  ob  his  head." 

"I  dunno  'bout  dat,"  demurred  Cesar,  skilfully 
avoiding  a  rut  in  the  road.  "  Dey  do  git  so  pow'ful 
stirred.  He  come  ob  mighty  good  ole  fam'ly,  b't,  like 
eb'ryt'ing  else  in  ole  Virginny,  it  am  a-runnin'  down 
bery  rapid.  All  de  bes'  Ian'  is  a-growin'  up  t'  ole  field 
on  de  Stetton  Woods  plantation. 

"  I  'member  his  fadder,  Cunnel  Willum,  so  well,  an' 
his  fadder  befo'  him,  wid  his  white  ha'r  an'  ruffled  shirt- 
fronts,  and  sof '  han's,  as  white  an'  small  as  any  lady's. 
ISTot  a  stroke  o'  work  any  ob  'em  eber  do  in  der  lives. 
Hi,  Judah,  does  yer  reck'n  dey'll  slip  'long  so  easy  like 
t' rough  dis  yer  world  an'  inter  de  odder,  allers  ?  Well, 
ole  Mas'r  knows  bes'.  He  gib  us  all  our  lot.  I  done 
do  b'lieve  dat  f 'r  certain  suah  !" 


148         A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER  IK  VIRGINIA. 


XXII. 


THE  discomfited  champion  of  Virginia  Conservatism 
swung  himself  up  among  the  tree-branches,  and  relieved 
his  feelings  by  a  prolonged  low  whistle.  Then  he  laughed 
heartily  at  the  absurdity  of  his  situation,  practised 
gymnastics  awhile  among  the  lower  boughs,  and  solilo 
quized  : 

"  That  confounded  rascal  of  a  Joe  !  Paying  off  old 
scores,  was  he  ?  How  I  wish  I  had  him  back  in  the  old 
times  before  the  war  !  For  exactly  one  hour — that's 
about  the  time  he  harangued  !"  A  long  silence,  more 
expressive  than  words. 

"  Father  always  said  Yellow  Joe  had  a  spice  of  the 
devil  in  him.  '  Spice,'  is  it  ?  Why,  it's  the  entire 
animal,  hoofs  and  all."  Another  silence. 

"  I  reckon  I  may  as  well  be  getting  on.  1  might  be 
shot  for  a  wild  turkey  roosting  on  the  branches."  He 
laughed  heartily  at  this  pleasant  conceit,  as  he  swiftly 
walked  away  from  the  forest. 

Suddenly  he  came  upon  Miss  Marian's  pretty  white 
washed  cottage,  with  its  little  yard  in  front,  surrounded 
by  a  whitewashed  paling. 

"  1  wonder  how  she  manages  to  live  in  this  lonely 
fashion  ?  It  looks  tolerably  comfortable,  too,  I  must 
admit.  New  land  broken  up  from  the  forest,  and  the 
stumps  are  all  gone  ;  plenty  of  bushes  and  shrubs  and 
trees.  1  wonder  how  they  do  it  ? — these  Yankee  folks 
what  come  here  and  make  our  run-down,  worn-out 
places  look  better  than,  our  very  best." 


PERCY'S  RETREAT.  149 

At  the  little  gate  lie  paused.  A  light  shone  from  a 
window,  screened  by  a  large  honeysuckle  trained  to  a 
trellis.  As  the  light  filtered  through  the  leaves  he 
noticed  its  clustering  white  and  yellow  blossoms,  its  last 
epoch  of  blooming  before  the  frosts  of  November  ;  as 
he  waited  its  fragrance  floated  to  him,  as  if  in  welcome. 

"  I  wish  I  dared  try  again  to  see  her.  But  she  will 
not  forget.  She  froze  me  so  the  last  time  that  I  haven't 
been  the  same  man  since.  Curious  what  ice  there  is  in 
these  Northern  folk  !  I  feel  the  same  old  chill  as  I  think 
of  it  ;  like  it  was  Christmas  snow  sifting  down."  His 
teeth  chattered. 

His  mind  appeared,  suddenly,  to  be  made  up,  quite  to 
his  own  surprise,  for  he  smiled  quizzically  as  he  pushed 
the  gate,  which  noiselessly  yielded.  A  moment  later  he 
was  knocking  at  the  door.  It  was  opened  almost  in 
stantly  by  Marian  herself.  The  look  of  surprise  on  her 
face  was  supplanted  by  one  of  aversion,  but  she  sup 
pressed  its  manifestation,  and  hospitably  invited  him  to 
enter. 

"  The  truth  is,  Miss  Stone,  that  your  window  allured 
me  hither,  in  spite  of  my  resolution  never  to  try  to  see 
you  again,"  he  began,  rather  feebly. 

Her  smile  was  cold.  u  My  door  is  always  open  to  any 
one,  white  or  black,  who  needs  my  help  or  sympathy." 
She  appeared  to  be  choosing  her  words  carefully.  "  But 
I  do  not  imagine  for  a  moment  that  you  would  class 
yourself  under  either  head,  Mr.  Darnell." 

He  made  no  immediate  answer.  She  went  on  :  u  I 
have  had  pupils  in  to  see  me  this  evening,  and  they 
have  delayed  me.  1  was  making  out  my  school  report 
when  they  came,  and  if  you  will  excuse  me  a  few  mo 
ments  ? — ah  !  I  sincerely  ask  your  pardon  ;  you  do  need 
me,  I  feel  sure  you  are  suffering  from  a  chill." 


150          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

His  teeth  chattered  as  he  tried  to  reply.  She  was 
already  astir  in  all  manner  of  kind  offices.  A  tiny  stove 
stood  in  one  corner,  a  tea-kettle  thereon.  Soon  a  fire 
crackled  and  sparkled,  and  the  kettle  began  to  hum  in  a 
homely  fashion. 

Never  before  had  Percy  Darnell  been  so  waited  on,  in 
all  his  thirty-six  years.  He  felt  a  swift  sense  of  shame 
to  see  her  gentle  and  gracious  ladyhood  unbending  to 
minister  to  his  wants.  His  own  sister,  he  knew  well 
enough,  would  never  do  these  kind  offices  for  suffering 
humanity.  She — his  sister — had  been  brought  up  to  do 
nothing  for  herself  that  a  servant  could  do  for  her.  He, 
also,  was  accustomed  to  that  way,  and  had  never  missed 
anything.  He  tried  to  protest.  He  motioned  her  back 
with  his  imploring  face,  but  speak  he  could  not ;  the 
ague  fit  was  on  him,  and  was  mightier  than  he. 

"  Do  not  try  to  talk,"  she  commanded.  "  Just  be 
quiet  and  well  behaved,  as  a  Darnell  should  be."  And 
this  time  her  smile  was  not  cold  ;  it  was  deliciously 
sweet  and  friendly. 

"I  will,"  he  finally  stammered,  watching  her  make 
tea.  He  had  never  liked  tea,  but  the  aroma  of  that  was 
heavenly. 

Then  she  swept  away  her  school  litter  from  the  small, 
round  table,  and  pushed  it  toward  the  arm-chair  wherein 
he  reclined,  enveloped  in  a  blanket.  Great  had  been  his 
discomfiture  when  she  insisted  on  swathing  him  in  this 
useful  article,  but  he  was  powerless  to  resist  ;  he  was  in 
"  the  enemy's  camp." 

Was  she  his  enemy  ?  he  queried  to  himself  as  he 
watched  her,  wishing  he  could  pierce  beneath  that 
marble  coldness  of  demeanor  and  discern  the  treasures  he 
felt  sure  were  hidden  there. 

Oh,  if  this  evening  might  only  last  forever  !     For  the 


PERCY'S  RETREAT.  151 

first  time  almost  in  liis  life  lie  felt  what  a  home  would 
be  like. 

Suddenly  he  threw  off  his  blanket  and  regained 
speech  :  "It  was  very  warm  in  the  meeting,  in  more 
senses  than  one,  and  I  stayed  too  long  afterward  in  the 
woods,  no  doubt.  The  fact  is,"  with  a  half  laugh,  "  I 
just  escaped  mighty  rough  treatment.  But  I  don't 
reckon  any  of  them  were  ever  your  pupils,"  he  added, 
gallantly.  "  I  confess  I  felt  a  little  afraid  of  them — 
such  an  unworthy  feeling  for  a  man — a  feeling  1  never 
experienced  before." 

"  But  not  an  unworthy  feeling  for  a  woman,  I  sup 
pose,"  pouring  out  the  tea. 

And  then  his  thoughts  swiftly  reverted  to  that  scene, 
ten  years  ago,  when  she  had  met  and  faced  him  without 
a  trace  of  fear.  His  expression  of  genuine  distress  and 
dismay  moved  her,  albeit  she  could  not  divine  its  cause. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Darnell,"  she  pleasantly  entreated. 
"  We  will  drink  tea  together  as  a  sign  of  peace.  The 
Indian  braves  buried  the  hatchet  amid  clouds  of  smoke  ; 
let  us  imitate  their  example  amid  the  fumes  of  Bohea." 

"  I  am  only  too  delighted  to  do  so,"  and  his  face  grew 
radiant.  "  I  began  to  fear  you  had  a  heart  of  stone,"  lie 
murmured. 

"  Stone  by  name  and  stone  by  nature  ?"  she  retorted, 
gayly.  "  You  are  making  puns  ;  you  are  decidedly 
better.  How  is  it  when  Dr.  Garland  dismisses  a  patient  ? 
Does  he  say,  i  1  pronounce  you  cured  '  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  indeed.  He  merely  edges  off  by  degrees," 
he  answered,  laughingly  ;  "  ceases  his  visits  gradually,  I 
mean,  of  course." 

"But  not  in  Stella  Barstow's  case,"  said  Marian, 
merrily.  "  Her  mother  set  her  arms  a-kimbo,  and  com 
manded  him  not  to  '  run  up  such  a  bill  that  they 


152          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   Itf   VIRGINIA. 

would  be  'bleeged  to  sell  out  to  pay  it.'  Which  so 
affrighted  the  doctor  that  he  came  no  more." 

"  But  1  don't  mean  to  follow  that  example,"  said  the 
young  man,  placidly.  "  You  are  cruel  to  even  suggest 
it.  And  I'm  not  well  enough  either  to  be  summarily 
discharged." 

u  You  must  try  my  crullers,  Mr.  Darnell ;  you  per 
haps  do  not  know  that  we  New  England  women  take 
especial  pride  in  our  cookery.  Only,  there,  in  that 
favored  land,  we  call  them  by  the  better  name  of 
'doughnuts.'  " 

"  Nothing  could  be  better,  by  whatever  name  they're 
called,"  he  murmured,  somewhat  incoherently. 

"  Speaking  of  Dr.  Garland,"  he  added,  after  a  lengthy 
pause,  u  did  you  know  what  manner  of  reception  the 
Barstows  bestowed  on  his  bill  for  attendance  on  their 
daughter  ?  As  /  heard  the  matter,  it  was  astonishing." 

"  You  probably  mean  that  his  exorbitant  bill  was 
astonishing  ?"  returned  the  teacher,  coldly.  "  In  all  my 
knowledge  of  doctors'  charges  for  services,  real  or  imagi 
nary,  1  never  saw  one  equal  to  that.  Clearly,  people 
must  learn  to  practise  the  old  command,  '  Heal  thyself/ 
if  they  have  not  the  boon  of  riches  to  satisfy  the  physi 
cian's  greed." 

"  You  speak  rather  strongly,  Miss  Stone.  I  assure 
you,  Dr.  Garland  comes  of  a  right  good  old  family — one 
of  the  first  families  of  ISTottoway.  They  belonged,  away 
back  to  the  old  Revolutionary  days,  to  the  real  chivalry 
of  the  State,"  spake  up  the  convalescent  warmly,  in 
defence  of  his  Southern  "  kinsfolk." 

"  How  are  the  mighty  fallen,  then  !"  hotly  exclaimed 
the  teacher.  "I  mean  the  mighty  '  chivalry.'  You 
must  not  feel  nettled,  Mr.  Darnell,  by  my  remarks," 
noticing  the  quick  drooping  of  his  eyelids.  "  But  we 


PERCY'S  RETREAT.  153 

of  the  North,  cannot  associate  that  grand  old  word 
'chivalry'  with  the  exhibition  of  that  meanest  passion 
of  the  human  heart — greed,  sordid  greed  !" 

"  Garland  himself  told  me  that  he  consulted  with  Dr. 
Sanderson  (a  high  authority)  as  to  what  he  ought  to 
charge  Barstow.  He  was  nearly  three  months  in  attend 
ance,  for  after  the  fever  left  her  an  abscess  appeared, 
and  he  was  frequently  there  in  the  night.  Sanderson 
told  him  ( if  Barstow  were  a  rich  man  seven  hundred 
dollars  was  none  too  much  ;  but  if  he  were  in  moderate 
circumstances  five  hundred  dollars  would  be  about  right. ' 
You  perceive,  Miss  Stone,  Garland  only  acted  from  the 
best  medical  advice  in  the  State. ' ' 

"  And  how  much  would  Dr.  Garland  have  charged 
you,  Mr.  Darnell,  for  equal  time  and  skill  in  attendance 
on  your  own  sister,  or  any  other  Southern  family  in  the 
county  ?"  Marian  looked  him  keenly  in  the  eye. 

Percy  reflected  a  moment,  then  laughed  :  "  It's  mighty 
small  pickings  the  doctors  get  out  of  any  Southern 
family  nowadays,"  he  declared,  frankly. 

"  But  your  6  circumstances  '  are  better  than  the  Bar- 
stows,"  persisted  Marian,  more  mildly.  "  They  would 
be  called  very  poor  in  any  locality  in  the  North." 

"  But  doctors  must  live,  you  know,"  asserted  Percy, 
breaking  his  cruller  into  dainty  morsels,  which  he  tasted 
slowly,  as  if  desirous  of  prolonging  the  delectable  treat. 

"  Please  finish  the  sentence,"  smiled  Marian,  mis 
chievously.  u  (  Doctors  must  live,  you  know, '  and  live  on 
Yankees — such  chance  ones  as  care  to  try  this  genial 
climate  to  prolong  wasting  lives.  Oh,  if  rich  Yankees 
would  only  migrate  hither  !  Can  you  bring  yourself  to 
believe  that  your  good  '  chivalrous  '  doctor — " 

"  Spare  me,  I  entreat  !"  laughed  Percy. 

"  Stopping  at  the  Barstows,  on  his  way  from  a  profes- 


154          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

sional  call  elsewhere,  charged  fifteen  dollars  for  a  single 
visit  ?"  finished  Marian,  calmly. 

Percy  looked  incredulous,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  : 
"  Some  snrgery,  no  doubt,"  he  muttered. 

"  1  saw  the  bill,  and  know  whereof  I  speak,"  said 
she.  "  But  we  wrill  bury  the  subject,  as  Mrs.  Barstow 
has  the  document  in  question.  She  made  quite  an 
elaborate  affair  of  it.  1  was  invited,  and  was  present,  of 
course.  When  I  arrived  I  found  all  of  Jinsy's  family 
drawn  up  in  solemn  order  around  the  old  oak  tree  by 
the  door.  Mrs.  Barstow  had  requested  me  to  bring  the 
call-bell  from  school  as  I  came  by,  which  I  did.  Several 
others  happened  along  just  then,  or  came  by  invitation — 
altogether  an  illustrious  gathering." 

They  both  laughed  pleasantly. 

"  And  then  what  ?     I  feel  interested,"  asked  Percy. 

"  Why,  she  deposited  the  paper  in  an  excavation  pre 
viously  made,  stamping  the  earth  over  it  with  an  energy 
peculiar  to  herself,  and  delivered  such  an  c  opinion  '  (she 
called  it)  of  the  medical  fraternity  of  Amelia  County, 
that  even  Mr.  Barstow  called  from  the  window,  '  Mal- 
viny,  you've  said  enough.'  : 

"  As  Cesar  has  it,  she  i  put  forth  an  oration,'  "  smiled 
the  happy  guest. 

"  And  then  she  tolled  the  bell,  l  five  hundred  times,' 
she  said  ;  I  did  not  stay  to  count.  It  was  all  so  droll." 

She  did  not  talk  much  after  this,  but  Percy  was  in  a 
state  of  dreamy  content,  and  cared  nothing  for  her 
silence.  Presently  she  cleared  away  the  table,  his  gaze 
following  her  deft  motions — the  dainty  way  in  which  she 
folded  the  snowy  cloth  and  washed  the  dishes — yes, 
actually  washed  the  dishes  ! 

"  Do  you  do  all  this  yourself,  every  day  ?"  he  vent 
ured  to  ask,  in  one  of  her  pauses  of  putting  things  away. 


PERCY'S  RETREAT.  155 

She  turned,  with  a  look  of  surprise  at  the  question, 
and  gave  evidence  of  the  region  of  her  "  bringing  up" 
by  replying  with  another  question  : 

"  Did  you  suppose,  Mr.  Darnell,  that  housework  did 
itself?  1  wish  it  did,"  she  added,  as  he  thought  some 
what  wearily  ;  "  but  exercise  is  good  for  us,  you 
know." 

"  It  is  said  to  be."  And  he  smiled.  "  I  am  a  lazy 
dog.  My  opinion  is  worth  absolutely  nothing.  1  wish, 
sometimes,  that  I  had  been  raised  in  the  North,  like 
yourself. ' ' 

"  But  why  ?"  And  now  she  was  genuinely  interested 
as  well  as  astonished. 

He  did  not  reply  at  once.  Perhaps  he  was  selecting  a 
fitting  phrase.  "  You  would  like  me  better,  Miss 
Marian  ;  that  is  the  true  reason,"  he  frankly  said. 
She  looked  at  him  with  a  dreamy,  far-away  expression. 
Evidently  her  thoughts  were  away  among  her  own  peo 
ple.  He  looked  at  her.  It  was  a  serene  face,  the  brow 
un wrinkled,  the  full  lips  red  as  in  early  youth  ;  the  blue 
of  her  eyes  had  deepened  in  color,  as  is  often  noticed  in 
those  who  have  deeply  sorrowed  or  whose  ' c  lines  have 
fallen"  amid  rough  and  uncongenial  places. 

Yes,  there  was  the  same  firm  expression  to  the  lovely 
mouth,  serious  and  unchangeable.  Not  a  thread  of  gray 
streaked  the  auburn  hair  which  glittered  golden  in  the 
sunlight.  Its  only  fault,  Percy  thought,  was  the  severe 
plainness  of  its  arrangement.  It  should  ripple  in  shin 
ing  waves,  and  break  in  the  foam  of  ringlets — that 
treasure  of  hair  !  What  a  picture  she  would  make  !" 
he  said  to  himself. 

Suddenly  she  looked  up  and  met  his  full,  admiring 
gaze.  "1  trust  you  are  quite  recovered?"  she  said, 
hastily,  and  rising.  "  It  is  growing  very  late." 


156  A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

"  Indeed,  I  feel  right  well,  thanks  to  you.  You  are  a 
true  Samaritan,  requiting  evil  with  good." 

"  Oh  !"  she  made  a  deprecating  gesture  with  her 
hand.  "  The  evil  is  so  far  away  and  so  forgotten,  and 
the  good  is  so  infinitesimally  small,  1  am  thankful  to 
make  amends,  in  my  small  way,  for  my  people' s  miscon 
duct." 

u  Is  it  forgotten,  then,  that  evil  night  ten  years  ago, 
when  a  half  dozen  wild,  reckless  fellows — myself  the 
suggester  and  leader  of  this  band — rode  to  Sim  Barstow's 
to  give  the  newly  arrived  nigger- teacher  that  insulting 
serenade  ?  Miss  Stone,  I  here  swear,  by  all  that  is  holy 
and  sacred,  that  entirely  as  we  hated  the  Yankee  nation 
then,  and  enraged  as  every  true  Southern  man  was  at 
the  idea  of  the  freedom  and  education  of  their  former 
chattels,  such  a  visitation  would  have  been  impossible  ii 
we  had  not  imbibed  whiskey  all  the  evening  !  That 
abominable  drink  caused  us  to  behave  like  demons  in 
stead  of  gentleman.  Oh,  how  1  have  hated  myself  ever 
since  that  wretched  night  !  And  you  stood  there  so 
serene  and  trustful  and  altogether  lovely,  the  moonlight 
• — that  cold  December  moonlight — framing  you  in  a 
picture,  that  my  heart  has  bowed  down  and  worshipped 
you  ever  since. 

"  Yes,  Marian  (1  will  call  you  so),  tipsy  as  1  was  I 
have  loved  you  from  that  night.  Year  after  year  has 
passed  away,  and  you  have  been  colder  than  ice  and  as 
repellent  whenever  1  have  tried  to  explain.  You  would 
not  hear.  You  heeded  not  my  abject  misery. 

"  Yes,  the  years  have  drifted  away,  and  I  am  surprised 
to  find  my  youth  gone.  I  have  drifted  with  them  quite 
into  middle-age."  With  his  hand  on  the  door-knob  he 
paused. 

"  1,  too,  am  middle-aged."    She  smiled,  a  little  satiri- 


PERCY'S  RETREAT.  157 

cally.     "  But  one  need  not  be  sorry  for  that  ;  we  are  only 
nearer  home. " 

"  Ah,  I  did  not  mean  just  that  way  !  I  am  not  re 
ligious,  and  I  cling  to  life.  Yon  do  not  know,  Marian, 
how  1  could  cherish  an  earthly  home  if  on]y  yon  would 
share  my  remaining  years  !" 

"  That  can  never  be,  Mr.  — " 

"  Call  me  Percy,"  he  implored.  "  Let  me  hear  you 
say  it  once  !" 

' '  I  believe  yon,  Percy, ' '  she  smiled,  "to  be  only 
half-serious.  But  1  am  wholly  so — what  is  left  of  me, 
that  is.  Years  ago  I  had  a  great  trouble,  and  the  best  of 
me  died  then  ;  I  feel  nowadays  like  my  own  shadow." 

"Ah,"  he  murmured  low,  "  thank  you  for  telling 
me!" 

"  I  am  not  unhappy  ;  don't  think  so  ;  the  world  is 
bright  and  fair — " 

"  As  yourself,"  he  interrupted,  breathlessly. 

"  And  now  I  must  really  hurry  you  a  little  ;  I  keep 
ISTew  England  hours  here,  or  try  to." 

"  Oh,  I  am  going  right  smart.  Marian,  you  can't 
prevent  my  caring  for  you.  I  shall  not  try,  even,  not  to 
love  you.  Even  New  England  ice  thaws  out  in  time,  in 
time  !  God  bless  you  now  and  always,  whether  here  or 
among  your  native  rocks  and  rills.  Yes,  I  repeat  it  ;  I 
wish  I  had  been  born  there.  Forgive  me  for  so  detain 
ing  you,  and  good -by,  good-by  !" 

As  he  went  away  he  plucked  a  sprig  of  honeysuckle. 
"  She  is  like  this.  She  is  so  sweet  and  lovely,  and  yet 
so  brilliant  ;  so  gracious  in  all  the  ways  which  lend  a 
charm  to  wifehood  !  Percy  Darnell,  did  you  think  a 
jewel  like  that  was  to  grace  and  brighten  and  redeem 
the  fading  splendors  of  your  old  ancestral  home  ? 

"  What  a  lonely  life,  for  her,  she  is  leading  !     In  this 


158          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

country  solitude,  without  real  companionship,  bound 
down  by  arduous  tasks  !  Nature  meant  her  for  better 
things.  The  aroma  of  everything  in  life  tliat  is  joyous 
and  brilliant  should  encompass  her. 

"  Ah  well,  if  I  cannot,  in  time,  win  her  regard  and 
respect  1  don't  much  care  what  does  become  of  me  ! 
What  does  it  matter,  now,  whether  Joe  or  I  goes  to  the 
Legislature  ?" 

And  Marian  Stone,  the  adored  teacher  of  the  poor  black 
children,  what  are  her  reflections  as  the  remarkable  in 
terview  is  slowly  recalled,  sitting  by  her  lonely  fire,  the 
clock-hands  pointing  to  midnight  ? 

"It  is  certainly  an  improvement  on  the  one  ten  years 
ago.  Even  the  manners  of  '  the  chivalry '  feel  the 
spirit  of  progress.  Ten  years  ?  and  it  seems  but  as  yes 
terday  since  I  stood,  that  first  night,  in  Mrs.  Barstow's 
doorway. 

"  Ah  me,  how  much  has  occurred  to  change  these 
Southern  people  !  Why  should  I  harbor  one  feeling  of 
bitter  recollection  ?  I  do  not.  Why,  1,  my  old  self,  am 
dead  and  buried.  I  am  never  more  the  Marian  Stone 
who  tripped  gayly  and  songfully  along  the  olden  years. 
Such  a  washed-out  and  forlorn  Marian  as  I  now  am  ! 

"  But  I  have  my  vocation.  Who  is  it  says  that  every 
woman  should  have  a  vocation  ?  It  is  true,  and,  I  re 
peat,  I  have  found  mine.  Come,  Marian  Stone,  it  is 
time  to  go  to  bed  and  dream." 

"  Good-by,  good-by  !"  How  like  a  sad  farewell 
those  words  went  ringing  adown  the  mazes  of  her  morn 
ing  dreams — like  the  cry  of  the  shipwrecked  clinging  to 
the  frail  spar  which  suddenly,  as  by  an  unseen  force,  is 
spun  far  from  the  outstretching  fingers  into  the  waste  of 
waters. 


STELLA    JAKE    "  GOES    OFF."  159 


XXIII. 


"  THE  mortal  suz,  Manm  !  It's  come  about  as  I  ex 
pected  all  along.  I've  told  you  'bout  young  Shepar'son, 
the  Englisher,  a-liangin'  'round  sis  ?  I  told  Sim  1  could- 
see  with  one  eye  that  he  meant  t'  make  a  wife  o'  her  ; 
but  law  !  Sim,  you  know,  don't  care  a  grain  whether  sis 
ever  goes  off  or  not.  He's  allers  so  taken  up  with  him 
self — that's  the  trouble — an'  so  he  is  pretty  toler'ble 
comfortable,  an'  has  'nough  to  eat  an'  drink,  an'  no 
chores  t'  do,  an'  suthin'  t'  read  from  mornin'  t'  night — 
allers  a-porin'  over  the  newspapers  you  send  him — why, 
he  don't  care  whether  the  world  moves  or  not.  An'  I 
can't  seem  t'  git  him  int'rested  'bout  sis's  wedding. 
I'm  clear  beat  out  a-tryin'.  There  !  1  don't  make  't  a 
p'int  t'  speak  ag'inst  my  own  husband — " 

Marian  smiled  involuntarily. 

"  But  he  is  'nough  t'  erritate  a  saint.  '  1  can't  see, 
Malviny,  much  t'  crow  about.  If  she  don't  marry  she'll 
have  trouble  'nough  in  life  ;  and  if  she  does  marry  it'll 
be  doubled,  if  not  more.'  What  you  goin'  to  do  with  a 
man  that  answers  you  like  that,  say,  Martin  ?" 

"  Nothing,  Mrs.  Barstow."  Marian's  face  dimpled 
with  merriment.  "  How  glad  I  shall  be  to  go  to  a  wTed- 
ding  !  For,  of  course,  you  intend  to  invite  me  ?  1  will 
make  myself  very  useful,  I  assure  you." 

"  Wall,  I  should,  Marun,  if  Stellur  Jane  was  t'  a  been 
spliced  t'  hum.*  We've  talked  it  all  over,  ev'ry  way, 
an'  the  gin'ral  feelin'  seems  t'  be  that  as  little  fuss  be 
made  over  the  marter  as  poss'ble.  So  we  sha'n't  have 


160          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER  IN  VIRGINIA. 

no  great  sort  of  a  wedd'n'  at  hum.  Sis  an'  Sliepar'son 
are  a-goin'  t'  walk  out  sorter  quiet  over  to  Grub  Hill 
church,  an'  I'm  a-goin'  'long  too.  Sis  sha'n't  have  the 
knot  tied  without  my  seein'  it's  done  properly  ;  1  don't 
know  what  sort  of  dodge  these  Southern  parsons  might 
be  up  to — " 

u  Oh,  Mrs.  Barstow  !"  protested  the  teacher. 

66  Y'  never  c'n  tell,  Marun.  Sim,  he  ain't  able  t'  go, 
an'  1  don't  know  as  he  would,  anyway.  He's  run  down 
mortal  fast  latterly,  as  you'll  say  when  you  see  him. 
Don't  set  up  no  gre't  now,  an'  hain't  no  app'tite  wuth 
mentionin'.  When  one's  app'tite  gives  out,  there's 
nothin'  t'  hold  on  to  !  That  corn-starch  pudd'n'  you  sent 
over  he  picked  away  at  a  little,  jest  b'cause  you  made  it, 
I  know.  Other  folkses  vittals  allers  tastes  better' n  our 
own  ;  an'  I  don't  have  so  much  t'  do  with  as  I  used 
ter."  A  long  sigh  ended  in  a  thoughtful  silence. 

"  An'  what  I  was  a-goin'  t'  ask  you,  if  I  c'n  ever  git 
'roun'  the  board  t'  it,  was  this  :  would  you  jest  as  soon 
come  an'  set  with  Sim  while  I  was  gone  ?  F'r  I  don't 
feel  quite  like  clearin'  out  an'  leavin'  him  all  alone,  he 
chokes  up  so.  An'  'twon't  take  many  more  sech  spells, 
Marun — not  many  more  sech  spells,  1  tell  ye." 

"  It  will  be  a  privilege  to  stay  with  him,  Mrs.  Bar- 
stow,"  said  Marian,  with  sweet  gravity. 

"  Sis'll  have-f  flax  roun'  consider'ble  more'n  she's 
been  used  t',  I  tell  Sim,"  mused  Mrs.  Malvina,  and 
her  lips  worked  tremulously  as  she  brooded  over  this 
theme.  "  An'  Sim  he  says  it'll  '  be  good  f'r  her  ;  it's 
jest  exactly  what  she  needs. '  Wall,  mabbe  I  have  sp'iled 
her  some.  I  humored  her  more'n  I  should  ef  I  hadn't  a 
lost  all  my  other  gals  ;  b't  there  !  she  inns'  hoe  her  own 
row  now  !  There  ain't  no  women  folks  over  to  Shepar'- 
son's — the  old  man  's  a  widower — an'  she  won't  be 


161 

hectored  an'  liaw'd  at  by  no  mother-in-law,  which  is  a 
great  deal  of  comfort." 

"  I  should  like  to  make  Stella  a  present,"  observed 
the  teacher,  thoughtfully,  "  if  you  could  give  me  a 
hint  what  she  would  like.  Stella  has  always  been  very 
friendly  to  me,  and  I  should  like  to  testify  my  regard 
for  her." 

"  You've  done  that  a  plenty  times,  Marun.  An' 
come  t'  that,  I  don't  never  give  no  '  hints  ;'  1  speak  right 
out  aliens.  Sim  says  I'm  too  blunt ;  but  there  !  I  guess  I 
know  that  my  bark's  wuss'n  my  bite.  An'  I  guess  you 
know  't  too  by  this  time,  Marun.  I  didn't  do  jest  right 
b'  you  once,  I  know  ;  but  law  suz  !  I  knowed  you  never 
laid  up  no  grudge  ag'inst  me  ;  when  I'm  mad  I'm  mad 
all  over.  There  !" 

"  What  is  my  present  to  be  ?"  laughed  Marian. 
"  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none,  but  such  as  I  have  give  I 
unto  thee. " 

"  Wall,  a  crittur  can't  in  reason  'xpect  more'n  that." 
Mrs.  Barstow's  face  brightened.  "  An'  t'  tell  the  truth 
(I  may  as  well  let  the  cat  out  the  bag  fus'  as  las'),  I 
come  over  t'  see  'f  I  couldn't  buy  it  of  ye,  y'  know — do 
washin'  f'r  ye  or  suthin'  ;  I  can  do  mos'  anythin'." 

Marian  patiently  waited,  watching  the  tumultuous 
working  of  Mrs.  Barstow's  mouth.  "  I've  wished  a 
hundred  times  1  c'd  see  suthin'  on  Stellur  Jane  as  gen- 
teel-lookin'  as  your  blue  silk  dress  is  on  you.  An'  't 
don't  look  right,  someway,  f'r  a  girl  to  step  off  in  any- 
thin'  but  silk.  Silk  seems  t'  bring  good  luck  with  't, 
some  way.  F'r  my  part,  I  stood  up  with  Sim  in  calico 
('twas  new,  though),  and  I've  never  had  no  luck  'bout 
nothin',"  sighed  she. 

Marian  was  smiling  now,  and  she  brought  forth  the 
coveted  article  of  raiment  without  delay,  "  I'm  sure  it 


162  A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER    IN    VIRGINIA. 

will  fit  her,"  said  she,  cheerily  ;   "  we  are  very  nearly  of 
the  same  size.     Good  luck  go  with  it." 

"  An'  you'll  be  over  t'-morrer?  An1  see  us  start? 
Land  sakes  !  1  don't  know  b't  I  shall  go  clear  t'  the 
c'u't-house  'fore  I  git  hum,  t'  see  sis  landed  safe." 
Mrs.  Barstow  went  off  with  an  air  of  triumph,  hugging 
her  precious  parcel  as  if  it  were  a  baby. 

"  Wedding  bells,  ring  merrily,  oh  !"  sang  Marian  the 
next  morning,  as  she  paced  along  the  forest  path  to  the 
Barstows.  'c  Indeed,  1  wish  there  were  bells  to  ring  ;  I 
could  keep  step  to  them  so  well  to-day,"  she  laughed 
aloud,  and  her  own  voice  sounded  joyful  even  to  herself. 

"  Why,  Miss  Stone,  you're  renewing  your  youth  !" 
exclaimed  Simeon,  as  she  entered  the  kitchen.  He 
propped  himself  on  his  crossed  arms  in  bed,  the  better 
to  examine  her  countenance.  u  You  don't  b'gin  t'  look 
s'  old  as  does  Stellur  there." 

6 '  Thanks  for  the  compliment,  sir, ' '  merrily  sweeping 
a  grand  courtesy.  "  This  is  a  great  day,  sir.  Weddings 
don't  occur  every  day." 

"  That's  so.  And  I'm  glad  they  don't.  What  with 
so  much  sparkin'  goin'  on,  besides  Malviny's  sortin'  over 
of  chists  an'  eternally  gabblin'  'bout  our  daughter's 
1  settin'  out  '  (she  calls  it),  an'  Jinsy's  children  runniri' 
in  forty  times  t'  git  peeps  at  '  de  bride,'  I  can't  sense 
what  I'm  readin'  much." 

"  We  will  endeavor  to  keep  out  of  your  highness'  way 
as  much  as  possible,"  Marian  finished,  with  another  pro 
found  obeisance. 

"  Merry  as  a  meadow-lark,  isn't  she,  Jinsy  ?"  Simeon, 
smiled  rather  reluctantly. 

"  I  done  been  a-watchin'  her  eber  sence  she  open  de 
do'.  I  has,  Mr.  Basto.  .1  say  ter  myself,  '  Our  Miss 
Maryon  am  as  chipper  's  a  squir'l  dis  day.'  Mought  be 


STELLA    JAtfE    "GOES    OFF/'  1G3 

dat  she  am  a-t'inkin'  'bout  follerin'  ob  Miss  Stella's 
egsample."  Every  tooth  glistened  as  Jinsy  opened  her 
wide  mouth  with  an  appalling  grin. 

"  O  Jinsy  !"  said  Marian,  vainly  trying  to  look 
serious,  "  I  didn't  think  that  my  first  friend  would 
have  turned  on  me  so  !" 

"  Hev'  a  piece  of  wedd'n'  cake,  Marim."  Mrs.  Bar- 
stow  passed  around  a  generous  plateful.  "  Mabbe  Sim 
'11  be  persuaded  t'  try  a  piece,  seem'  it's  sis's  weddV 
day.  It's  good  riz  cake  ;  jest  the  same,  Sim,  as  you  an' 
I  lied  when  we  stood  up  'fore  old  Parson  Green  up  'n 
old  Onta',  forty-one  year  ago  come  next  Candlemas  Day. 
Dear  me,  how  time  flies  !" 

"  Yes,  time  flies,  and  now  it's  time  we  was  going," 
said  the  groom,  in  a  wheezing  voice,  as  if  he  were 
asthmatic.  He  was  a  short,  thick-set  young  fellow,  of 
ruddy  coloring  and  bashful  demeanor,  keeping  in  the 
background  of  this  family  group,  and  dropping  his  eyes 
under  the  fire  of  glances  levelled  at  him  by  the  colored 
children.  "  We  don't  wish  to  keep  the  clergyman 
waiting  at  the  church,  do  we  ?" 

"  Massy,  no,  1  s'pose  not.  Here's  sis's  bunnit, 
Marun,"  producing  a  pretty  straw  with  a  blue  ribbon 
simply  looped  around  it  ;  "  matches  her  dress  well,  don't 
it  ?" 

' i  Stella  looks  very  nicely,"  smiled  Marian,  bestowing  a 
hearty  kiss  on  her  cheek,  "  and  I  hope  that  a  great  many 
happy  years  are  before  her." 

There  were  handshakings  and  "  God-speeds"  in  the 
simple  country  fashion  of  the  neighborhood,  and  with 
Mrs.  Barstow  leading  the  way,  u  the  procession,"  as 
Mrs.  Malviny  styled  it,  formed.  Next  to  her  walked 
the  bride  and  groom,  hands  clasped,  and  swinging  idly. 
Then  Jinsy  followed,  with  M'ria  Ann.  Kadikash,  Kitty 


164          A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN    VIRGINIA. 

Cutadash,  now  grown  a  tall,  plump  young  damsel,  while 
the  other  members  of  her  numerous  family  paired  off 
behind  them. 

Marian  had  provided  herself  with  an  old  horseshoe, 
cast,  luckily,  near  the  road  before  her  school,  and  she 
stood  in  the  doorway  watching  them  go  down  the  road, 
merrily  swinging  it. 

"  The  mortal  suz  !  Marun,  I'm  glad  you're  thoughtful 
enough  t'  bring  that.  It's  jest  what  1  wanted  ;  it'll 
bring  us  good  luck  !"  came  back  to  her  ears  with  a  sound 
as  of  a  screech,  and  away  flew  the  shoe  after  the  vanish 
ing  figures  among  the  trees. 

The  hours  wore  slowly  away.  Simeon  read  awhile, 
propped  up  in  bed  by  pillows  placed  lengthwise  against 
an  inverted  chair  ;  he  dozed  in  the  intervals  between 
spasms  of  violent  coughing.  Sometimes  he  talked,  and 
as  Marian  listened  to  his  curt,  crisp,  ironical  sentences, 
she  could  scarcely  believe  him  to  be  the  helpless  invalid 
he  otherwise  appeared. 

"  I  dunno,  skurs'ly,  what  course  Malviny  will  take 
when  I'm  gone  hence.  'Tain't  safe  t'  bet  on  her, 
never  !"  with  a  slow  smile. 

"  Ef  she  makes  it  her  hum  with  Stellar  Jane  she'll  be 
the  same  old  drudge  she  is  now.  1  ain't  been  so  's  I 
could  lighten  her  burdens  much  these  twenty  years  back  ; 
but  I  can't  seem  t'  find  no  great  pleasure  in  picturin'  her 
a-slavin'  t'  the  whole  Shepar'son  tribe,"  he  finished,  with 
considerable  feeling. 

"  1  wouldn't  worry  about  that,"  said  Marian,  sooth 
ingly,  "  1  have  made  you  some  hot  lemonade  to  drink." 

"  Thankee,"  sipping  slowly.  "  I  think  more'n  I  say, 
Miss  Stone.  And  I  know  Malviny  better'n  you  do  ;  it'll 
be  jest  like  her  t'  try  t'  pull  them  all  out  of  the  rut —  Oh, 
yes,  they  ain't  paid  f'r  their  land  yit  over  toward  the 


STELLA    JANE    "GOES    OFF."  165 

court-house,  no  more'n  we  have.  1  hain't  worried  ft 
grain  'bout  that  f  r  years  ;  our  intres'  has  been  kep'  up 
till  the  two  years  pas',  and  o'  course  they'll  take  back 
the  place,  and  that'll  be  the  end  on't.  Wall,  we've  had 
our  livin'  off  it,  sech  as  it's  been. 

"  'T  would  be  my  wish  t'  ha  ye  Malviny  go  back  to 
Ontario.  She  c'ld  stay  round  some  with  the  boys — 
they're  all  settled — and  she  has  a  brother,  too  ;  Malviny 
won't  be  no  moth  in  nobody's  fam'ly.  An'  she  never 
has  taken  t'  Virginny  from  the  first. 

66  I'm  boun'  t'  say  I  like  the  country  here.  It's  been 
a  good  frien'  t'  me  ;  an'  I  know  I  couldn't  and  wouldn't 
have  lived  a  quarter  of  the  time  I  have  if  I  hadn't 
cleared  out  of  Ontario.  I  know  what  the  Basto  breed 
is,  Miss  Stone.  Mabbe  they  pull  through  the  hard  win 
ter  weather  all  straight,  an'  you  think  they're  sure  f'r  a 
couple  o'  years  longer  ;  but  it's  the  spring,  there,  that's 
so  try  in';  'fore  the  leaves  come  out  and  the  bobolinks  git 
wonted  off  they  go,  jest  as  you  blow  out  a  taller  candle." 

"  Shall  I  not  read  to  you  now  ?"  Marian  asked,  think 
ing  to  divert  his  mind  from  the  melancholy  tone  his  re 
marks  were  taking. 

"  Thankee,  no.  I've  been  itchin'  t'  git  a  chance  t' 
talk  over  marters  with  ye  f'r  some  time.  It's  the  fust 
time  I've  been  left  alone,  or  I  should  a-sent  f'r  ye  'fore 
now.  Malviny's  taken  proper  good  care  o'  me — I'll  say 
that  f'r  her.  But  even  she,  and  she  knows  the  Bastos 
well  enough,  don't  jest  sense  iny  case.  She's  so  used  t' 
seem'  me  a-barkin'  an'  grumblin'  that  she  can't. 

u  I  don't  want  none  o'  their  ministers  a-rootin'  around 
here,  afterward,  a-tryin'  t'  scent  brirnstun',  Marian  ;  I 
ask  it  as  a  favor  of  ye  that  ye'll  see  t'  it.  I  don't  feller- 
ship  their  talk  none,  and  I  can't  afford  none  o'  their 
prayers  ;  and  I  can't  trust  Malviny  to  carry  out  my 


166          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

wishes  in  this  respect.  She'd  do  most  anything  f  me, 
but  she  can't  help  thinkin'  that  there's  some  p'rtlcular 
virtue  about  a  funeral  sermon.  If  you  tell  her  I  axed 
yer  as  a  solemn  favor  she'd  listen  t'  you." 

"  All  your  wishes  shall  be  respected,  Mr.  Barstow.  I 
promise." 

"  I  knowed  you  would."  A  sweeter  accent  than  usual 
trembled  in  Simeon's  voice.  "  I  guess  if  this  cheer  is 
taken  out,  now,  I'll  try  to  sleep  some.  It's  gittin'  on 
t'ward  evenin'.  Malviny  ought  t'  be  here  b'fore  long. 
Mabbe  she  did  go  on  to  the  court-house  ;  I  never  can 
bet  on  Malviny. 

"  Yes,  Marian,  I  shall  rest  jest  as  well  under  old  Vir- 
ginny's  sods,  ef  they  ain't  as  green  an'  nourishin'  as  them 
in  New  York  State." 


XXIV. 

GOSSIP. 

"  WALL,  I  didn't  see  him  no  gre't,  but  I  knew  I  could 
'thout  takin'  much  trouble,  an'  he  wur  a  mighty  peac'ble 
neighbor.  Wind's  a-shiftin'  'roun'  some  ;  it's  'boun'  ter 
b'  colder.  Wall,  it's  time  fr  fallin'  weather." 

Josiah  Crittenden  was  on  his  homeward  way  from  the 
Barstow  dwelling,  whence  Simeon  had  been  borne  to  his 
last  resting-place. 

"  I  reck'n  as  how  we  none  on  us  didn't  'predate  him 
'nough.  Dat's  allers  de  way  wid  folks  ;  we  hes  ter  wait 
till  they're  dead  'fore  dere  good  qual'ties  bounces  up  and 
de  odder  sort  falls  under.  It's  a  'mazin'  t'ing  ter  me," 


GOSSIP.  167 

responded  Cesar  Peachy,  carefully  treading  in  the  broad 
wagon  ruts  of  the  road,  to  render  his  walking  easier. 

"  Wall,  whether  we've  done  well  by  folks  or  not,  we 
can't  change  nothV  arter  they're  gone — can't  change 
noth'n'  !"  and  Judah  Harris  followed  Cesar's  tracks  in 
the  soft  red  clay,  idly  noting  the  difference  of  the  foot 
print. 

"  I  see  all  the  women  goin'  in  wid  Dinah  t'  git  warm  ; 
come  in,  neighbors,  all  of  you.  'Twas  right  smart  cool  fi 
de  time  o'  year  a-standin'  out  dere.  Come  in,  Judah," 
urged  Cesar,  turning  to  the  doorway. 

"  Yis,  Sist'r  Dinah,  it's  a  great  'fliction  ter  me"  Jinsy 
was  saying.  "  Goodman  say  him  reck'n  we'll  hab  ter 
shift  ober  ter  Shepar'son's  place.  Dey  been  want'n'  us 
ter  move  ober  dar  sence  las'  Chris'mus.  Don'  reck'n 
hit'll  foller  so  fur.  An'  now  Mr.  Basto  am  gone  'tain't 
likely  Mrs.  Basto  '11  stay  dar  alone." 

Dinah  nodded  her  turbaned  head  very  impressively. 
"  'Twon't  make  no  stir  ob  diff  runce,  Sist'r  Jinsy.  Does 
yer  'spec'  dat  de  matter  ob  dem  few  miles  am  gwine  ter 
bamfoozle  hit  f  Cesar,  he  kin  tell  ye  t'ings  dat  happ'n' 
in  ole  Mas'r  Willum's  time  when  de  obstrep'rousest  ob 
de  slave  folk  was  sent  down  ter  Massissip.  Heaps  ob 
t'ings  he's  heerd  fr'm  dem  as  seen  'em  wid  dere  own 
eyes." 

"  I  ain't  a-studyirr  'bout  de  irufeob  t'ings,"  muttered 
Jinsy,  impatiently.  "  I  don't  keer  'bout  seein'  noth'n', 
b't  I'se  'bleeged  ter,  'pears." 

"  Dar  was  onprincipl'd  doin's  in  dem  ole  days  on  de 
Massissip  plantashun,"  remarked  Cesar,  thoughtfully. 
t;  Ef  yer  was  a  high-strung  nigger  yer  was  toler'ble  sure 
t'  be  sended  down  dar  t'  hab  de  kinks  taken  outen  ye. 
Some,  dey  come  back  ag'in,  an'  some  dey  didn't.  Dey 
tell  dat  i  'pear'd  like  'twas  hebben  up  dere  in  ole  "Vir- 


108          A   YAHKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK    VIRGINIA. 

ginny,  and  down  dar  'pear'd  like  'twas  hell.'  Dey  was 
fotched  fr'm  de  swamps  whar  dey'd  been  hidin'  an' 
starvin'  jest  a  passel  o'  bones  dat  a  f us' -class  buzzard 
wouldn't  a- wasted  his  strength  on,  noway.  Some  was 
hobbled,  an'  neber  done  no  mo'  plantin'  arterward. 
When  dey  was  a-totin'  logs  up  de  hill,  an'  a  man  seem 
sleepy  like,  his  hade  an'  de  log  wus  jest  knocked  t'gedder. 
Hants  a  plenty  in  dem  days,  Sist'r  Jinsy  !" 

<c  Ob  course,"  assented  Jinsy,  solemnly.  "  Dey  has  t' 
plague  some  one  on  dis  yarth  ef  dey  happ'n'  ter  be  called 
off  'fore  dere  time.  But,"  reflectively,  "  I'se  didn't 
hab  no  han'  in  dese  yer  chilluns  ob  Sist'r  Lucindy's 
gittin'  dere  warnin',  an'  'pears  dat  hit  ain't  jest  'ligious 
doin's  t'  skeer  us  all  so." 

"  Dere  ain't  noth'ii'  'ligious  'lout  hants,"  decisively 
interjected  Aunt  Molly.  "  'Spec'  dey'm  sent  t'  warn  us 
t'  keep  our  lamp  bright  an'  shinin'  an'  filled  wid  ile. 
Dey  po'  creeturs  ain't  a-gwine  ter  harm  nobody.  Mabbe 
dey'm  lonesome  like  whar  dey  be,  an'  like  t'  keep  clus' 
t'  folks  dey  use  fur  t'  know  f'r  comp'ny." 

No  objection  was  raised,  immediately,  to  this  interpre 
tation. 

"  I  'member  I  wus  skeered  mighty  bad,  once," 
laughed  Moses  Bobbins.  "  'Twas  in  my  coltish  days, 
an'  I  wus  ruther  keerless,  like  other  young  bucks,  an' 
didn't  git  cotched  in  my  pranks  of  en  'nough  ter  tame 
me— mighty  hard  t'  b'lieve  dat  yer,  now  de  rheumatiz 
has  tooken  de  spring  outen  me  so  !  Dar  wus  three  ob 
us,  an'  we  wus  a-samplin'  de  egg-plum  tree  in  de  darkes' 
ni^ht  I  eber  knowed.  Yer  couldn't  see  de  white  ob 

O 

Jude  Harris's  eyes,  and  if  ye  couldn't  cotch  a  glimmer  ob 
dem  yer  might  know  'twas  dark  f'r  sartain." 

"  Dat  am  certain  so,"  laughingly  assented  Aunt  Molly. 

"  Dat  yer  tree  wus  de  ch'icest  ob  de  orchard,  an'  we 


GOSSIP.  169 

knowed  it.  Hi  !  plums  as  big  as  a  small  tea-cnp  a- 
meltin'  in  yer  mouth  like  sugar  candy  !  Hit  stood  in  de 
ole  orchard  by  de  souf  woods,  an'  wus  in  de  las'  row, 
tol'ble  clus'  tf  de  woods.  Dem  woods  wus  known  t'  be 
haunted  ;  some  nigger  'd  been  lynched  t'  one  de  oak 
trees  (b't  dat  yer  wus  'fore  my  day) — I  disremember  his 
name  now — b't  ef  he  wus  half  as  bad  as  he  wus  made  out 
ter  be  he'd  oughter  been  strung  up  ages  afore  he  was. 

"  I'd  shinned  up  de  tree,  an'  wus  thro  win'  'em  down 
lively,  when  ob  a  sudd'ri  we  heerd  a  cur' us  sort  ob 
groanin'  an'  gruntin' — 'peared  ter  spring  right  outen  de 
groun'  at  de  fut — but  not  a  t'ing  could  we  see,  an'  we 
strained  our  eyes  mighty  sharp  a-tryin.  Hi  !  de  secon' 
groan  dat  wus  fotched  out  fr'm  hit  dose  boys  took  t'  dar 
heels  as  lively  as  ef  ole  Satan  hisself  was  ningin'  his  shoe 
arter  'em.  I  'clar'  I'se  so  skeered  I  couldn't  eben  holler 
as  I  heerd  'em  a-clickin'  away  an'  leavin'  me  t'  b'ar  de 
brunt  ob  hits  fury.  My  miz'ble  heart  went  thumpin' 
up  an'  down  like  an  ole  dasher  churn. 

"  An'  sudd'n  I  like  t'  fell  outen  dat  tree,  I  lay  back 
an'  laughed  so.  Dey  had  foun'  de  plumpile,  an'  wus 
chankin'  at  'em  as  nat'rally  as  ef  in  de  trough.  I  'clar' 
t'  goodness  ef  de  hant  didn't  turn  inter  masYs  black 
Berkshire  hogs  !  Dey  e't  up  all  de  plums  an'  trotted 
away,  as  I  c'd  hear  ;  I  couldn't  see  'em.  An'  I  stayed 
an'  filled  myself  wid  plums,  I  reck'n,  as  calm  as  a  sum 
mer  night.  I  didn't  let  on  arterward  what  'twas,  an'  I 
got  a  rep'tation  f'r  bein'  enrageous  mighty  cheap." 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  and  the  gloom  on  Jinsy's 
face  lifted  somewhat. 

"  I  got  right  down  sort  o'  skeery  once  myself,"  put  in 
Josiah  Crittenden,  with  a  sidelong  look  at  Uncle  Moses. 
"  'Twasin  th'  May  month  after  Mis'  Crittenden  was  took 
off,  you  knows,  an'  I  happ'n'd  t'  be  out  rather  late.  Nigh 


170          A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

's  I  kin  make  out  't  mus'  hev'  been  mighty  well  on  t' 
midnight,  when  I  happ'n'  t'  look  overhead,  an'  thar,  right 
over  my  head,  was  a  ship  a-sailin'  the  air,  as  solemn  an' 
still  as  a  sperit.  Mons'ous  big  it  looked  in  the  bright 
moonlight,  an'  I  stopped  an'  stared  a  minnit. 

"  Then  I  hurried  right  lively,  an'  didn't  take  no  secoh' 
look,  I  promis'  you.  I  don't  know  how  fur  it  sailed  nor 
whar  't  stopped.  Ry'lene  Carosene  is  so  skeery  I  didn't 
tell  her  'bout  it,  an'  arterward  I  was  glad  I  had  sense 
'nough  to  hold  my  tongue  ;  f  r  I  happ'n'  nex'  day  t' 
pass  the  teacher's  house,  an'  I  up  an'  axed  her  what 
mought  she  s'pose  made  it  sail  arter  me  so  ? 

"  '  Oh,'  she  say,  as  pleasant  an'  cheerful,  '  it  was  a 
'bloon,  Mr.  Crittenden.  I  wish  I  had  seen  it.  No 
doubt  you  would  have  seen  some  one  in  it  if  you  had  not 
been  frightened.'  Well,  neighbors,  thet's  the  wust  sight 
ever  /  see.  If  all  the  sights  turn  out  t'  be  as  harmless  as 
Moses  an'  mine,  I  reck'n  they  won't  keep  ye'  wake  o' 
nights. 

"  "Well,  I  mus'  be  gittin'  'long.  Pow'ful  lonesome 
day  it's  been  fur  a-buryin',  ain't  it  ?  The  wind's  cuttin' 
right  sharp,  I  tell  ye.  Good-evenin',  friends." 

Dinah  laughed  softly  as  she  stirred  the  fire  to  a  readier 
blaze,  and  put  over  the  bake-kettle.  "  I'se  done  glad  t' 
have  some  comp'ny  ter  supper  t' -night.  'Pears  like 
we'se  all  too  much  'clined  ter  stay  ter  home  dese  yer 
damp  days.  An'  I  reck'n  a  cup  o'  saxafass  tea  '11  cheer 
up  Sist'r  Jinsy  pow'ful. 

"  Dar  now,  you  Cesar,  you'se  done  fetched  in  some 
quar'l  wood  f'r  dis  yer  lire  t' -night  ;  an'  I  reck'n  ef  I've 
done  tol'  yer  once  I  hev'  a  hundred  times  dat  I  don't 
want  no  quar'l  wood  a-snappin'  an'  a-snarlin'  on  my 
fire." 

Cesar  laughed.     "  I  done  say  t'  myself,  when  I  cut 


GOSSIP.  171 

down  dat  ar'  saxaf ass  tree,  c  Dinah'll  hop  roun'  lively  ef 
I  fotch  it  home,'  b't  'twas  so  pow'ful  handy  dat  I  wus 
'bleeged  f  r  t'  cut  't  ;  it  stood  up  befo'  me  right  in  de 
way  ob  my  ax.  We'll  burn  it  'fore  witnesses,  Dinah,  an' 
I  reck'n  we  sha'n't  quar'l  dis  yer  time."  And  he  laid 
the  sassafras  boughs  across  the  bricks  which  served  for 
andirons. 

"  Look  dar  now,"  exclaimed  Dinah,  nodding  her 
turbaned  head,  "  it  b'gins  t'  snap  an'  hiss  like  a  tol'ble 
lively  sort  ob  snake  !  I  d'spise  it,  I  tells  yer." 

"  I  ain't  none  'fraid  ob  eber  seein'  ole  Basto  ag'in," 
Jinsy  pensively  observed,  as  she  watched  the  writhing 
flames.  "  I've  heerd  him  say  mighty  of 'en  he  wur  done 
sure  he  shouldn't  fin'  any  wuss  place  dan  dis  yer,  whar- 
eber  he  went  to  when  he  died,  an'  he  wur  cl'ar  in  his 
min'  dat  he  neber  want  ter  come  back.  I  'clar',  I'se 
pow'ful  glad  on  it !" 

"  Hi  !  him  look  jes'  like  his  own  shadder  dese  two 
years  back,"  laughed  Dinah,  cheerfully,  as  the  fumes  of 
supper  pervaded  the  room.  "  An'  I  don't  reck'n  dat 
Mis'  Basto'd  be  skeered  ef  he  did  come  back  ;  she'd  jes' 
shake  her  fist  at  'im  de  usual  way,  an'  ax  'im  what  he 
wanted  ob  her  ?" 

"  Dar's  some  folks  as  it's  no  sorter  use  ter  arger  wid 
'bout  dese  yer  sights,"  observed  Aunt  Molly,  patheti 
cally,  "  an'  our  Miss  Mary  on  am  one." 

"  Well,  what's  de  use  ob  tryin'  T '  put  in  Judah,  testily. 
"  What's  de  use  ?  White  folks'  ways  ain't  our  ways 
'tall.  Let  eb'ry  one  b'lieve  as  dey  likes — as  dey  likes." 

"  I  neber  sot  out  ter  arger  wid  unb'lievers  noway, 
whedder  white  folks  or  black, "  mildly  observed  Cesar. 
"  It  am  suah  'nough  f'r  me  dat  I  knows  what  I 
knows — " 

"  Dat's  so,"  assented  Judah,  hastily. 


172          A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

"  An'  wlien  any  po'  ignorunt  body  tells  me  dat  t'ings 
ain't  as  I  knows  ?em  ter  Z»6,  why,  dey  m ought  as  well 
tell  me  I  ain't  born  ;  one  fac'  '11  b'ar  d'nyin'  jes'  's  well 
's  de  odder.  An'  I  don't  go  fr  t'  pretend  t'  'count  f'r 
eider  one." 

"  Dat  you  don't,"  Dinah  serenely  added.  "  B't  set 
up  an'  liab  some  supper,  an'  ye  can  carry  on  two  trades 
• — eatin'  an'  talkin' — at  once,  I  reck'n." 

"  I  wus  knowin'  t'  a  mighty  cur 'us  t'iiig  once  my 
self,"  slowly  said  Aunt  Molly,  as  she  sipped  her  sassa 
fras  tea.  "  I  disremember  jes'  how  many  year  ago 
'twas  ;  'twas  arter  de  'mancipation,  an'  de  fightin'  were 
over  a  longish  spell.  I  war  ober  in  Powhatan  ter  Miss 
C'r'line's  fam'ly,  a-stayin'  on  while  decook  wus  sick.  I 
did  it  as  a  favor  ter  Miss  C'r'line,  an'  she  said  it  'bleeged 
her  pow'ful. 

"  Mas'r  "Willum  Blackhead  wus  tooken  oft'  while  I  wus 
dar.  Ye  know,  Dinah,  we  used  ter  call  him  so  'case  his 
ha' r  was  black  as  a  coal,  ter  'stinguish  him  from  ole 
Mas'r  Willum.  I  knowed  dar  wus  trouble  o'  some  sort  in 
de  house  'fore  he  died,  b't  ob  course  I  neber  axed  'bout 
it  ob  de  servants,  an'  de  cook  wus  s'  full  ob  de  miz'ry 
in  her  chist  dat  some  days  she  didn't  sense  noth'n'  no 
way.  I'd  tooken  my  'Tildy  wid  me  ter  wait  on  me  an' 
wash  dishes,  like,  an'  she'd  been  ober  of 'en  'nough  befo'. 
All  de  chill  tins,  both  white  an'  black,  used  ter  play 
t'gedder,  an'  whar  dey  went  de  mos'  wus  t'  a  gully  back 
ob  de  corn  house,  wid  a  log  lyin'  crosswise  in  't,  and 
bricks  a-lyin'  roun'  as  ef  dey'd  been  dryin'  in  de  sun. 
De  chilluns  would  stay  hours  dere  pilin'  up  housen  an 
sech  like.  Arter  Willum  Blackhead  was  tooken  ye 
couldn't  a  hired  dem  chilluns  t'  go  near  dat  yer  gaily 
nohow.  Dey'm  mighty  foolish  creeturs,  chilluns  are, 
anyway. 


GOSSIP.  173 

"  Willum  was  laid  out  in  de  norf  chamber,  an'  I  wur 
a-settin'  up  in  de  nex'  room  de  night  'fore  de  fun'ral,  a- 
med'tating  on  de  trouble  dere  is  in  mos'  houses,  when  I 
seemed  t'  fall  inter  a  sort  ob  dozin'  sleep,  an'  dere  he 
stood  whar  I  could  see  him  clus',  jes'  as  smilin'  an' 
nateral  as  I  eber  see  him  in  my  life.  I  wa'n't  startled  a 
grain. 

"  *  Dat  you,  Willum  Blackhead  ? '  I  axed.  '  What 
for  'm  I  settin'  up  yere,  an'  you  a-stan'in'  dere  a-laugh- 
in'  at  ole  Molly  ? ' 

"  An'  den  he  smile  more  dan  befo'.  Says  he,  '  I  want 
ter  speak  t'  yer,  Aunt  Molly.  I  want  yer  ter  'member 
an'  ax  'Tildy  t'  p'int  out  ter  yer  whar  dat  yer  log  used 
f'r  t'  lay  in  de  gully.  She  will  'member,  I  t'ink ;  an' 
den  she  mus'  p'int  out  de  spot  t'  my  mother.' 

"  An'  I  'clar'  ter  you,  neighbors,  ef  I  didn't  wake  up 
den,  an'  'twas  cl'ar  in  my  min'  what  all  de  frettiri'  in  de 
house  f'r  months  had  been  'bout.  Ye  see,  missis  had 
buried  her  silver  during  war  time,  and  'twas  in  dat  yer 
p'tic'lar  gully  under  de  dead  tree  ;  I'd  seen  it  a  hundred 
times,  an'  de  chilluns  'd  rid  it  f'r  bosses,  an'  no  one 
s'pected  'twas  ob  any  p'tic'lar  'count.  Somehow  dey'd 
moved  it  c'nsidable  out  ob  whar  it  used  ter  be  ;  rolled  it 
cl'ar  'long,  an'  so  when  de  ladies  wanted  de  silver  ag'in 
it  wa'n't  ter  be  foun'  nohow.  Missis  she  say  'twas  de 
Yankees  done  fin'  it  an'  take  it  away,  an'  she  fretted 
'bout  it  'mazin'. 

"  Miss  C'r'line  say  arterward  dem  goblets  wer  ober  a 
hunder  years  old,  an'  dey  wus  mighty  heavy." 

"  Did  'Tildy  'member  whar  de  log  used  f'r  t'  stan'  ?" 
asked  Dinah. 

"  At  fus'  she  couldn't  think  noth'n'  'bout  it.  1  tried 
eb'ry  way  1  knowed  t'  make  her  mem'ry  spryer.  An' 
den  1  cut  a  peach  switch  an'  tol'  her  I'd  hev'  ter  see  if 


174          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

de  ile  ob  de  peach  wouldn't  sof  en  up  her  idees.  'Twas 
s'prisin'  t'  fin'  how  dat  yer  rem'dy  b'gun  t'  work  'fore  I 
had  a  chance  ter  use  it,"  with  a  reminscent  -chuckle  of 
delight,  which  set  them  all  laughing  also. 

"  Molly  couldn't  a- fetched  a  blow,"  crisply  said 
Judah.  "  1  do  all  dat,  an'  allers  did.  Molly  's  too  easy, 
too  easy  !" 

"  She  went  to  de  spot,  as  1  telled  yer,  an'  reck'n'd  it 
mought  b'  yere  de  log  stood.  An'  den  she  look  a  little 
roun',  an'  wus  done  sartain  it  wur.  An'  so  de  ladies 
f oun'  she  wur  right  when  ole  Scip,  de  gard'ner,  b'gan  ter 
dig  down.  EVry  piece  come  up  dat  went  down  in  de  red 
clay  so  many  years  agone.  I've  of 'en  fought  it  were 
'mazin'  cur'us,  dat  yer  dream  o'  mine." 

"  Dat  it  wur,"  echoed  Dinah,  "mighty  cur'us  an' 
solemn  like.  I'm  mighty  apt  ter  wake  up  a-laughin' 
from  mine.  'Pears  I'd  like  a  serious  dream  f'r  once, 
myself." 

"  De  Presb'ter'an  preacher  dat  Miss  Mary  on  hab  got 
ter  come  down  here  on  'count  ob  civ'lizin'  us"  laughed 
Judah,  "  am  sot  like  a  flint  'g'inst  dese  yer  rev'lations. 
Him  say  no  sech  t'ings  eber  happen.  Him  come  ter  do 
way  wid  our  ign'rant  b'liefs.  Hi,  Cesar  !  1  up  'n  axed 
him  ef  he  b'lieved  in  de  rev'lations  in  de  Bible,  an'  him 
say,  i  Yis,  ob  course  ;  but  dat  wus  f'r  special  seasons  in  the 
libes  ob  de  people  in  dose  yer  days,  an'  didn't  'ply  now 
at  all.'  An'  I  toP  him  dat  his  reasonin'  didn't  'pear 
reason'ble  t'  me.  Ef  de  Bible  doin's  wur  true  once  dey 
wus  apt  ter  be  true  now.  An'  he  neber  said  a  word 
'bout  de  matter  sence  t'  me." 

"  Miss  Maryon  means  well,"  laughed  Dinah,  cheer 
fully.  "  An'  I  s'pose  an  eddicated  man  can  set  out  de 
gospel  in  more  genteel  shape  f'r  us  ;  b't  dar,  we  uns  c'n 
sense  r'ligion  better  ef  we  takes  it  in  de  way  we  'se  used  t' 


GOSSIP.  175 

it.  I'm  a  mighty  po'  creetur  t'  change  de  fashion  ob  my 
r'ligion." 

"  Dat's  so,"  assented  Molly,  heartily.  "  WhenBrud- 
der  Dan'l  prays  we  all  knows  jes'  what  he  means. 
An'  we  ain't  gwine  ter  stan'  in  our  own  light,  neider. 
Miss  Maryon  ask  will  wre  go  t'  hear  her  minister  ter 
favor  her  f  I  say  yes,  ob  course,  ef  he  preach  when  our 
meet'n'  ain't  held.  I  knows  he  am  pow'ful  keen  man  ;  him 
come  straight  fr'm  Lincoln,  whar  dey  turn  out  preachers 
eb'ry  day  jes'  as  easy  as  de  gris'-mill  in  high  water  grin's 
our  corn. ' ' 

"  An'  dar  ain't  one  so  black  in  dis  yer  county  as  Mr. 
Sam'lls  is,"  laughed  Dinah.  "  1  used  ter  t'ink  de  right- 
down  black  folks  couldn't  get  1'arnin'  like  de  white  folks 
an'  de  yaller  men.  Dat  yer  am  one  ob  my  ign'rant  b'liefs 
dat  de  Presb'ter'ans  am  boun'  f'r  t'  obercome,  I  s'pose." 

"Wall,  I'se  pow'ful  fond  ob  Miss  Maryon,"  put  in 
Jinsy,  emphatically.  "  I'd  domos'  anything,  on  disyarth 
f'r  her,  dat  1  would.  She's  been  so  good  t'  de  Chilians 
in  eb'ry  way.  An'  now  she's  gwine  f'r  t'  sen'  Kitty 
Cuttydash  her  own  self  ter  Hampton.  She'm  mighty 
smart  in  her  books  a'ready,  an'  she'm  1'arnin'  as  fas'  ter 
be  ready  when  Miss  Maryon  say  de  word.  T'  t'ink  dat 
Jinsy  liab  raised  up  a  teacher  in  her  own  fain'ly  am 
'nough  t'  make  one  proud,  hi,  Sist'r  Dinah  ? 

"  An',"  thoughtfully,  "I  mos*  done  suah  I'd  turn 
Presb'ter'an  ef  de  teacher  wanted  me  to.  But  Mr. 
Sam'lls  won't  preach  it  inter  me,  I'll  be  boun'  !  " 

"  Dat  he  won't,  Sist'r  Jinsy.  I  s'pose  we  mus'  all  ob 
us  turn  to  an'  help  him  t'  settle  his  house.  Him  say  de 
cage  ain't  fine  'nough  yit  f'r  his  little  wife,  when  I  ax 
him  wrhy  he  done  bring  her  yere  'mong  us.  'Spec'  she 
too  fine  lady  den  f'r -MS  ter'  soshate  wid,"  good-naturedly 
observed  Dinah. 


170          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

u  I  don't  keer  ef  she  be.  I'll  holp  him  f'r  Miss 
Maryon's  sake,  if  at  all,"  said  Jinsy,  rather  curtly. 
"  An'  wheder  de  Presb'ter'ans  b'lieve  in  hants  or  not 
don't  matter  a  grain  t'  Jurdan  an'  me.  We  ~knows. 
An'  we  jes'  don't  'tend  f  r  t'  ax  Mr.  Sam '11s  'bout  that 
nor  noth'n'  else." 

They  laughed  at  Jinsy's  vehemence. 

"  Dar  wus  my  kinfolk,  Jasper,  an'  his  wife,"  sighed 
Cesar. 

"  Yis,"  echoed  one  after  another.  "  Dar  wur  Jinny, 
sure  'nough,  po'  creetur  !" 

"  Ef  dar  'ain't  no  jedgmen's  ob  de  Lawd  now  what 
wur  dat,  den,  Cesar?" 


XXY. 


UNCLE  NED  TWITCHEL  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the 
store  at  "  Wilkson's  Shop"  -in  Lodore.  Evening  was 
closing  in.  He  had  lingered,  patiently  waiting  for 
another  "  treat,"  until  his  experienced  judgment  in  such 
matters  assured  him  that  no  further  opportunities  would 
be  offered  him.  "  T&me  ter  git,  I  'spec',"  he  muttered, 
as  he  laboriously  mounted  his  beast  for  the  homeward 
ride. 

"  Yer  gwine  ?  Le'  me  hoi'  yer  bundle  till  yer  am 
h'isted,"  said  an  acquaintance  standing  idly  near. 

"  'Bleeged  ter  ye.  I'sedone  got  de  rheumatiz  pow'- 
f ul  dis  season  ;  been  s'  much  fallin'  wedder  lately  dat  de 
damp  hab  sort  o'  got  groun'  inter  my  ole  bones,  an'  dar 


JASPER'S  WIFE.  177 

it  hangs  night  an'  day  a-twitchin  an'  rackin'  me  'mazin' 
hard,  an'  I  can't  'pear  ter  git  shet  ob  it.  I  knows  it 
done  boun'  t'  wear  me  outen  de  worl'  some  day,  suah." 

"  Look  out  dar,  ole  man,  yer  don't  mean  f'r  ter  jerk 
dat  mool  roun'  in  no  sech  fashion  as  dat.  She'm  boun' 
f'r  ter  Ian'  yer  in  some  ditch  'fore  yer  reaches  Jones' 
Trac',  an'  whar'll  yer  bones  be  den  ?" 

A  good-natured  laugh  went  around  the  group. 

"  She  am  de  catty- corneres'  sort  ob  beast  dat  eber  1 
wnr  'flicted  ter  own,  dat  she  am,"  began  Uncle  Ned, 
with  a  grieved  expression  on  his  wrinkled  face,  which 
provoked  another  round  of  laughter.  As  if  seeking  to 
interrupt  the  recital  of  her  misdeeds,  the  mule  suddenly 
started  at  full  speed  along  the  highway,  jerking  her 
master  indecorously  backward. 

"  1  done  hopes  de  ole  man'llhab  sense  'nough  ter  turn 
inter  de  fores'  road  when  he  reaches  it.  Wonder  why 
him  set  'pon  tradin'  t'  Lodore  when  dar  am  two  sto's 
nearer  by  ?  He  sartain  suah  c'n  put  a  heap  ob  whiskey 
outer  sight  'mazin'  fas'." 

"  So  he  kin  ;  dat's  so  ;  mighty  peart  ole  man,"  ran 
around  in  a  gentle  chuckle  of  genuine  admiration  for 
Uncle  Ned's  chief  accomplishment. 

"  1  reck'n  him  mighty  lonesome  sence  de  ole  lady  war 
tooken,"  observed  a  quiet,  gray-faced  man,  holding  his 
red  clay  pipe  in  abeyance  with  his  teeth,  while  interject 
ing  his  conversational  mite.  u  An'  he  don't  hitch  along 
ob  Jasper's  folks  bery  well,  cley  say,  which  'counts  fur 
his  hangin'  'roun'  at  de  sto'.  Jinny  Twitch  el  am  a  high 
flyer,  she  be,  an'  nat'rally  de  ole  man's  apt  ter  be  agger- 
vatin'." 

The  old  man,  or  his  beast,  had  sense  enough  to  turn 
into  the  forest  road.  As  he  slowly  journeyed  on,  for  the 
mule  had  dropped  her  brisk  pace  for  a  walk  long  before, 


178          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA* 

the  woods  had  an  awesome  look,  almost,  they  were  so 
gray  and  silent.  The  overhanging  boughs  on  either  side 
seemed  reaching  strangely  attenuated  arms  to  clutch  at 
him.  The  wood-mosses  along  the  way  stealthily  dead 
ened  the  sound  of  hoofs,  and  then  the  path  itself  grew 
dimmer,  and  all  around  was  one  gray  uniformity,  and 
finally  Uncle  Ned,  still  grasping  his  package  of  bacon, 
slipped  quietly  off  his  steed,  which  journeyed  home  with 
out  him. 

The  wind  rose  about  midnight,  and  the  rain  descended 
in  fitful  swirls  ;  then  a  shower  of  hail  pattered  on  the 
sleeper  under  the  hickory.  The  storm  strengthened  to 
a  steady  pour,  and  still  he  stirred  not.  Nibb's  Creek  rose 
swiftly,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  the  idle  and 
shallow  brooklet  changed  to  a  foam-flecked,  turbid  tor 
rent,  rushing  along  its  narrow  channel  with  the  roar  of  a 
river.  It  widened  as  it  spread  over  the  lowlands  along 
its  banks,  uprooting  oats  and  rye  and  many  a  garden  plot 
of  cabbages,  and  bearing  its  spoils  rapidly  away. 

"  Sukey  done  come  home  in  de  night  an'  went  inter 
de  stable,  as  sensible  as  a  chile.  B't  1  dnnno  whar  my 
ole  daddy  got  lef  behin',"  said  Jasper  the  next  morn 
ing. 

"  Ob  coorse  he  got  lef  at  de  sto'.  It's  jes'  like  'im 
t'  stay  a  pappose,  an'  I'se  mighty  sot  on  habin'  some 
bac'n  for  my  mornin'  eatin's.  Ef  he  liab  ter  hoof  it 
back  fr'm.  Wilkson's  shop,  1  'spec's  he'll  be  suah  ter 
hitch  dat  yer  Suke  nex'  time,  'stid  ob  trustin'  her  ter  wait 
hersilf. "  Jinny  took  up  her  baby  with  a  placidity  which 
somehow  irritated  the  "  weaker  vessel." 

"  All  I  know  'bout  it,  Jinny,  is  dat  ef  he  hab  ter  foot 
it  fr'm  dar  y'll  hab  a  right  smart  chance  o'  nursin'  arter- 
ward.  De  ole  man's  broke  up  pow'ful,  an'  it  done  rain 
bar'ls  las'  night." 


*  JASPER'S  WIFE.  179 

"  1  don't  'spec'  t'  fret  none  'bout  nursin',"  serenely 
replied  Jinny.  "  Not  dis  yer  mornin'.  Dar,  hush  yer 
racket,  you  boy.  Dis  young  un  gwine  f  r  t'  howl  jes' 
like  all  de  res'  ob  de  Twitchel  tribe.  He's  done  certain 
struck  de  note  a'ready."  Jinny's  eyes  gleamed 
maliciously  as  she  deftly  tossed  the  teething  child  from 
one  brawny  arm  to  another,  crooning  a  melancholy 
lullaby  : 

"  '  Dar,  hush  now,  mammy's  b'y. 

Oh,  don't  yer  cry  now,  don't  yer  cry  ! 
Ole  mam  '11  come  back  bain-bj^, 
Bam-by  fr'm  Vaudoo  Ian', 
De  blessid  Vaudoo  Ian'  ! ' 

"  Why,  yere's  yer  ole  daddy,  Jasper,  a-limpin'  'long 
mighty  slow.  An'  I  sh'll  hab  a  slice  ob  bac'n  wid  my 
John  Constant,  arter  all.  I'm  pow'ful  glad  ter  see  ye, 
daddy,  ef  'tis  sort  o'  late  'n  de  mornin'.  'Pears  yer 
parted  comp'ny  wid  Sukey  in  de  night ;  p'raps  she 
wasn't  p'lite  'nough  t'  wait  f'r  ye  ?"  Jinny's  eyes 
shone  with  a  satirical  light,  but  her  voice  was  mild. 

u  I  done  parted  wid  somefin'  else,  I  reck'n,  as  ye'll 
keer  more  f'r  dan  de  p'liteness  ob  dat  spec'al  mool 
critter,"  said  Uncle  Ned,  sinking  wearily  into  one  of  the 
two  chairs  the  cabin  contained. 

"  Whar's  de  bac'n  yer  went  for  ?"  suddenly  inquired 
Jinny,  eyeing  his  pockets  suspiciously. 

"  Dat's  de  bery  question  1  been  axin'  myself  all  de 
way  home,  eber"  sence  I  picked  up  dis  ole  nigger  out  dat 
sof '  bed  ho  slep'  in  all  night.  Whar's  my  bac'n  ? 
'Twus  two  poun'  side  meat  1  traded  off  p'tater  ingens 
f'r,  an'  1  grip  onter  it  mighty  clus'.  'Spec'  some 
varmint  holped  itself  ter  my  good  meat.  It  wur  de 
fault  ob  dat  toddy  dat  made  me  so  drowsy  ;  de  toddy 
wur  'mazin'  strong  f'r  me  dat  yer  time,  I  'low,  Jinny." 


180          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA* 

Uncle  Ned  dozed  off  even  while  speaking,  and  Jasper, 
standing  by,  eyed  him  critically  :  "  1  tell  ye,  Jin,  'twon't 
be  dis  week  nor  yit  anoder  'fore  daddy  gits  ober  dis  yer 
pull."  And  Jasper  was  right.  Uncle  Ned  lay  for 
weary  weeks  thereafter  in  the  agonies  of  rheumatic 
fever. 

The  nursing  Jinny  afforded  him  was  so  slight  that 
even  the  "  weaker  vessel  "  rebelled  at  last,  declaring 
that  his  "  ole  daddy  shouldn't  be  lef  ter  die  ;"  and,  with 
a  mysterious  enjoinder  of  secrecy,  he  dictated  a  letter  to 
a  married  sister  living  in  Richmond,  Miss  Marian  being 
the  scribe. 

In  truth,  Miss  Marian's  beneficence  brooded  overall 
the  aged  and  suffering  for  miles  around.  Uncle  Ned's 
sole  pleasure,  till  his  daughter  arrived,  was  to  watch  for 
the  teacher's  weekly  visits.  Always  she  bore  some  dainty 
prepared  for  the  failing  appetite.  She  brightened  the 
dingy  cabin  in  various  ways.  She  brought  downy 
pillows  for  his  aching  joints,  and  a  few  pictures  to  hang 
where  his  eyes  could  rest  on  them,  and  a  white  coverlet 
for  his  bed.  All  these  attentions  cheered  the  drooping 
spirits.  He  called  her  "  a  good  angel  in  de  flesh,"  and 
when  she  read  to  him  some  simple  Bible  story,  with 
frequent  pauses  to  interpret  the  ancient  speech  so  puz 
zling  to  Uncle  Ned,  it  appeared  to  him  sometimes  as  if 
she  grew  to  look  exactly  like  the  Madonna  in  the  print 
upon  the  wall. 

And  then  Sally  Ann  came,  bringing  her  child,  Sabra, 
a  slim  girl  of  ten,  to  wait  upon  her  grandfather,  and  the 
old  man's  contentment  was  increased,  though  his  pains 
were  not  lessened. 

"  Jinny  and  Sally  Ann  don't  hitch  bosses  wuth  a 
cent,"  he  complained  to  Marian.  "  1  'spec's  one' 11  hab 
ter  be  boss,  an'  de  oder'll  hab  ter  cl'ar  out,  Dar  now, 


JASPER'S  WIFE.  181 

I  slia'n't  done  go  t*  trabble  roun'  no  mo'.  I'se  waitin', 
jes'  waitin',  an'  de  quarlin'  's  wliat  hurts." 

"  An'  I'll  tell  my  fadder  dat  yer  eats  up  de  nice  t'ings 
de  white  ladies  brung  jes'  fr  him,"  he  overheard  Sally 
Ann  retort  to  one  of  Jinny's  threats.  "  Oh  yes,  I'm 
gwine  away.  I  can't  lib  yere  no  longer.  Dis  yere  cabin 
ain't  big  'iiough  t'  hoi'  Jinny  an'  me  both,  let  alone 
Jasper.  Jasper  used  ter  be  somefin'  ob  a  man.  It's 
Jin  yere  an  Jin  dere,  till  I  conies  t'  b'lieve  dat  Jin  hab 
sort  o'  swallowed  him  up,  an'  dere  ain't  nobody  ~but  Jin." 

The  altercation  became  fierce,  and  at  his  wife's  bidding 
Jasper  seized  his  sister  by  the  wrists.  Uncle  Ned  vainly 
strove  to  raise  himself,  and  fell  back  groaning.  Sabra 
bent  over  him.  "  Tell  dem  it's  sech  a  shame  t'  quar'l. 
1  reck'n  yer  mammy' 11  hab  ter  go  back  ter  Rich- 
mon'." 

"  Oh  yes-,  I'm  gwine,  certain  suah  's  yer  am  born," 
gasped  Sally  Ann  ;  "b't  I'll  tell  ye  fus'  how  dey  e't  up 
all  de  cakes  an'  de  ice-cream  and  de  jelly  yistiddy,  an' 
yer  neber  knowed  dat  yer  Tied  any  sech  dainties  in  de 
cubbo'rd  yander." 

"  Kill  her,  Jasper,  kill  her  !"  called  Jinny,  with  her 
baby  at  her  breast. 

Sabra  burst  out  crying.  Jasper  flung  away  his  hold, 
"  You  two  women  are  fools,  f'r  suah." 

"  Only  Jasper's  wise,"  sang  Jinny,  in  a  mocking  tone, 
as  she  rocked  her  baby  in  her  arms. 

"I'm  gwine  away  now,  fadder.  Yer  sees  yerself  dat 
it's  onpossible  t'  stay  yere  no  longer.  B't  Pllleab  Sabry 
t'  take  a  sort  ob  keer  over  ye,  t'  run  arrints  f  r  ye. 
She's  a  mighty  keerful  gal  ob  her  age,  an'  she'll  liolp 
a'most  as  well  as  me." 

The  days  wore  away  more  quietly  after  Sally  Ann's 
departure.  The  cabin,  like  most  on  the  large  planta- 


182          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

tions,  was  isolated  from  neighbors.  Jinny  was  a  sociable 
soul,  and  she  fretted  in  the  solitude.  With  her  baby  on 
her  arm,  she  would  leave  the  cabin's  occupants  to  care 
for  themselves  the  entire  day,  while  she  roamed  from 
one  acquaintance  to  another,  rehearsing  her  enmities  and 
extolling  her  own  forbearance.  Jasper  betook  himself 
"  to  de  sto'  "  more  frequently  than  the  family  needs  re 
quired,  or  bethought  himself  of  waiting  jobs  near  centres 
of  talk. 

Sabra  had  no  time  to  be  melancholy  or  lonely.  In  her 
childish  way  she  sought  to  keep  her  grandfather  com 
fortable.  She  was  a  patient  child  withal,  and  if  her 
slight  arms  ached  over  her  unwonted  labor,  she  refrained 
from  mentioning  it.  Jinny  took  advantage  of  this  trait 
to  such  an  extent  that  all  the  washing  of  clothes  and 
scrubbing  of  the  scanty  furniture  and  floor  were  per 
formed  by  this  willing  mite. 

With  all  menial  offices  discharged  upon  these  tiny 
shoulders,  and  her  coveted  leisure  to  roam  secured,  Jinny 
hated  her.  She  hated  her  for  the  patient  way  in  which 
she  bore  abuse,  for  the  silence  in  which  she  ate  her  crust, 
burned  black,  and  formerly  bestowed  on  the  dogs,  and 
did  not  ask  for  a  share  of  the  meat  in  the  skillet.  Daily 
she  dinned  into  Jasper's  ear  the  fact  that  Sabra  was  left 
there  by  Sally  Ann  as  a  spy  upon  their  conduct  to  Uncle 
Ned. 

"  She  mus'  be  made  ter  cl'ar  out.  I  c'n  do  for  daddy 
all  he  needs.  I  can't  'ford  ter  keep  young  creeturs  f'r 
Sally  Ann." 

Spite  and  meanness  of  soul  grow  by  what  they  feed 
upon,  like  any  other  passion.  In  this  uncultured  soul 
there  were  no  civilizing  processes,  as  the  law  of  kindness 
was  absolutely  unintelligible.  She  began  to  refuse  Sabra 
food  when  it  were  possible,  to  hide  remnants  from  meals 


JASPER'S  WIFE.  183 

lest  she  feed  on  them  slyly,  until  Sabra  complained 
openly. 

"I'll  work  all  yer  want  me  ter,  Jinny,  b't  I  can't 
starve." 

"  Hear  her,  Jasper  !"  The  malicious  light  shone  in 
Jinny's  eyes.  "  Help  yerself,  Sabry  ;  dar's  m 'lasses  in 
dat  bottle  an'  yere's  a  Georgy  bisc'it."  And  the  child, 
ignorant  of  satire,  accepted  literally  the  mock  invitation. 

Then  Jasper's  eyes  flashed  ;  he  was  inordinately 
greedy  of  sweets,  and  grudged  a  share  of  any,  even  to 
Jinny. 

Poor  little  Sabra  !  Uncle  Ned  called  her  in  vain. 
The  long-abstained-from  dainty  was  only  clutched  more 
eagerly  in  the  slender  fingers. 

' '  Sabry,  Sabry,  1  wants  yer,  chile  !  Dis  yer  brick  ter 
my  foots  hab  got  stun'-cold,  suah." 

tf  1'se  yere  now,  grandaddy." 

u  Sabry,"  with  an  earnest  look  into  her  wondering 
face,  "  don't  yer  go  fur  t'  eat  no  mo'  m' lasses  ;  'tain't 
egzackly  healthy  f'r  ye,  d'ye  understan'  ?" 

"  My  mudder  gibs  me  all  I  kin  eat,"  pouted  the  child. 
(( I  wish  I  wur  hum  ag'in." 

"  An'  you  sh'll  go,  honey,  right  away.  My  little  gal 
sh'll  go  back  ter  Richmon'.  'Tain't  no  place  yere  f'r 
ye,  tell  yer  mammy.  M'lasses  ain't  healthy  f'r  ye 
in  de  kentry.  Grandaddy  says  so." 

Jinny,  crooning  in  one  corner  to  her  baby,  interrupted 
herself  to  say,  "  It's  time  ter  go  ter  de  spring  ;  de 
bucket's  done  been  empty  dis  hour.  An',  Sabry,  ef  yer 
am  ter  cl'ar  out  f'r  good  yer  may  tote  two  buckets  fus'  I 
reck'n." 

Sabra  laughed  pleasantly  at  the  joke.  'c  I  done  reck'n 
I'll  hab  time  ter  say  '  good-by '  fus',  Jinny,  'fore  I  set 
out  f'r  Richmon'.  'Spec's  de  kyars  won't  haul  up  yere 


184          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   liT   VIRGINIA. 

dis  ebenin'  ter  carry  me  dere."  And  grandaddy  joined 
in  Sabra's  mirth  at  the  idea.  But  Jinny's  face  was  glurn 
as  she  rocked  her  baby  on  her  lap. 

Sabra  took  up  the  bucket,  laying  the  gourd  dipper 
down  on  the  bench  by  the  doorway.  u  How  dese  yer 
gourds  do  las'  !  1  wonder  ef  I  dropped  one  right  hard 
on  de  floo'  ef  'twould  done  break  ?" 

u  Yo'd  bes'  not  try  dat,"  smiled  grandaddy.  "  Yo'd 
be  wan  tin'  a  drink,  ef  'twas  smashed." 

"  Good-by,  Jinny,  till  1  sees  yer  ag'in,"  saucily  sang 
the  mite,  tripping  away  with  the  bucket  poised  on  the 
woolly  head. 

Uncle  Ned  dropped  off  in  sleep.  In  the  night  he  was 
startled  by  an  unusual  noise — -the  gourd  dipper  slid  from 
the  water- pail  to  the  floor. 

"  Oh,  dis  miz'ry  'n  my  bones  !"  he  murmured.  "  I 
can't  turn  rnyse'f  in  de  bed.  I  can't  see  noth'n'  in  de 
dark.  Ef  dar  wur  a  winder  to  let  in  de  starlight  'twould 
be  a  great  condition  t'  dis  cabin.  Miss  Maryon  say  she 
neber  could  nnnerstan'  why  colored  folks  shouldn't  build 
winders  to  dere  housen  same  's  white  folks. 

"  '  White  folks  ain't  'bleeged  f'r  t'  t'ink  ob  de  cheap 
ness  ob  t'ings,'  I  say  ;  b't  she  smile  back,  '  Sometimes 
dey  are,  b't  dey  will  hab  winders.'  An'  den  she  say, 
i  Arter  all,  Uncle  Ned,  ef  we  has  winders  in  our  souls,  so 
de  blessed  light  ob  hope  an'  love  an'  good- will  to  all  c'n 
shine  inter  'em,  dat  are  glory  'nough  f'r  us,'  an'  I  done 
b'liev'  her,  suah. 

"  An'  I  up  an'  say,  (  Miss  Maryon,  is  dat  de  rale  true 
Presb'ter'an  doctrin'  ?  Ef  so,  I'se  ready  f'r  t'  turn  inter 
a  Presb'ter'an  t'-morrer.'  She  laugh  like  a  summer 
mo'nin',  '  I  dunno,  Uncle  Ned.  It  ought  ter  be.  It 
is  Christ's  doctrin',  an'  dat's  'nough  f'r  ev'rybody.' ' 

Uncle  Ned's  speculations  consumed  the  night.     Jinny 


JASPER'S  WIFE.  185 

arose  from  her  pallet  and  began  the  morning  prepara 
tions  for  breakfast.  As  she  brought  his  portion  to  the 
bed  the  old  man  questioned  her  sharply  : 

"  Whar's  Sabiy  ?  Why  don't  she  brung  it  as  usual  ?  I 
hain't  seed  noth'n'  ob  her  dis  mo'nin'." 

"  NOT  I  neider,"  said  Jinny,  avoiding  his  gaze.  "  I 
dun  no  whar  she  am.  1  'spec's  she  runned  off  t'ward 
Richrnon'  in  de  night." 

"  An'  1  shouldn't  blame  her  ef  she  did,"  tartly  re 
sponded  the  old  man.  "  Why,  yer  didn't  make  up  her 
pallet !  War'n't  yer  'spectin'  her  ter  stay  t' -night  ?" 

Jinny  busied  herself  over  the  fire,  and  pretended  not 
to  hear  him. 

u  Dis  ole  man  know  dat  chile  neber  gwine  f'r  ter  foot 
it  thirty  mile  ter  Richinon',"  he  muttered,  uneasily. 
"  Whar  dey  driv'  her  off  ter  I  inus'  fin'  out. 

"  One  obyer  wur  dreifel  keeiiess  in  de  night  when  ye 
took  a  drink,  f'r  ye  let  de  dipper  drap  an'  neber  stop  ter 
pick  it  up,"  he  remarked,  when  Jinny  came  his  way 
again. 

Such  a  look  as  Jinny  shot  at  him — imploring,  beseech 
ing,  questioning.  Uncle  Ned  was  almost  sure  he  saw 
her  shiver,  and  a  nameless  dread  fell  on  him  in  the  silence 
which  succeeded.  He  asked  no  more  questions  regard 
ing  Sabra. 

That  night  he  noticed  that  Jinny  took  the  gourd  from 
the  pail  and  laid  it  on  the  bench  beside  it.  He  mused 
long  over  this  unusual  proceeding,  with  no  enlighten 
ment.  With  the  morning  light  he  looked  curiously 
toward  the  bench  ;  the  dipper  lay  on  the  floor.  And 
this  time  he  was  quite  sure  that  Jinny  shivered  as  she 
stooped  to  pick  it  up. 

At  last  Jinny  had  a  grievance  that  she  could  not 
share.  The  days  wore  away  in  that  lonely  cabin,  and 


180          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

every  weary  day  was  followed  by  a  dreaded  night.  Baby 
crowed  and  cooed  with  small  notice  of  his  blandishments. 
He  grew  to  miss  his  evening  lullaby.  Grandaddy  grew 
steadily  feebler.  Oh,  the  little  tragedies  in  these  lives  of 
ours,  hidden,  unsuspected,  away  from  the  gaze  of  men  ! 

It  was  noticed  that  Jasper  eyed  Jinny  sometimes  with 
a  look  of  fear,  and  that  a  strange  meekness  appeared  to 
have  settled  on  Jinny's  truculent  spirit. 

"  De  snow  do  lookpow'ful  lonesome,  suali,"  pensively 
remarked  Jinny  one  evening.  "  An'  yer  daddy  am 
inoanin'  so  wid  pain,  dat  'pears  ter  me,  Jasper,  y'd 
better  ride  ober  f'r  de  doctor.  1  kin  wash  fr  'im  ter  pay 
for  't,  an'  I'll  b'  glad  ter." 

"  Dat  am  right  good  in  yer,  Jin,  an'  I'll  go,  suah 
'nough."  Jasper  looked  pleased  at  Jinny's  interest  in  his 
old  father. 

"  I  can't  b'ar  t'  hear  him  takin'  on  so  wid  de  miz'ry. 
An'  I  dunno  what  t'  do." 

"  Yer  won't  got'  de  sto',  nor  noth'n',  Jasper?  1 
hates  ter  stay  'lone." 

"  Why,  you  ain't  lef  'lone,  Jin.  Daddy  an'  baby's 
yere.  B't  I'll  come  back  'mejit  I  sees  de  doctor." 

"  Eide  fas',  Jasper  !"  calls  out  Jinny  from  the  door 
way,  as  he  clatters  past  on  Sukey  :  "  'fo'  de  day  break 
yer  daddy  mus'  hab  holp." 

"  Yis,  sar,  him  bery  bad  indeed,"  in  answer  to  the 
doctor's  inquiries. 

"  I  don't  see  how  1  can  go  out  again  to-night,  Jasper. 
I'll  give  you  some  medicine  for  the  old  man,  and  I'll  be 
over  early  in  the  morning — by  sun-up.  Bathe  him  in 
this  lotion  and  rub  it  in  well  with  a  warm  flannel— got 
any  flannel,  Jasper  ?" 

"Jinny  hab  de  baby's  petticuts,  sar,  which  am  ob 
flannel  cloth." 


JASPER'S  WIFE.  187 

Ci  Good  as  anything.  Rub  it  in  as  long  as  he  can 
bear  it.  I've  been  riding  all  day,  and  I'm  right  smart 
tired.  I'll  be  over  by  sun-up.  Nasty  weather,  this 
snow." 

Jasper  turned  Sukey's  head  homeward.  A  sharp  wind 
scurried  through  the  moist,  swiftly  falling  snowflakes, 
and  moaned  dismally  through  the  patches  of  pines  as  he 
traversed  them.  He  descried  here  and  there  a  lonely 
cabin  like  his  own,  but  no  light  nickered  through  the 
log-chinks  in  any  one  of  them. 

Once  he  dismounted  to  knock  at  a  hare  scudding 
wearily  through  the  gathering  drifts  ;  it  eluded  him,  and, 
no  one  being  nigh,  he  cursed  the  shrinking  creature 
heartily. 

As  he  did  so  he  started  back  as  if  he  had  received  a 
blow  ;  the  affrighted  eyes  seemed  pitifully  pleading,  and 
in  some  strange  way  the  eyes  were  those  of  Sabra. 

A  cold  sweat  covered  him,  and  his  knees  knocked  to 
gether,  and  his  tongue  seemed  to  shrivel  in  his  mouth  as 
he  vainly  tried  to  call  aloud  her  name. 

"  Sukey,  Sukey,  stan'  still,  you  beast!"  But  Sukey 
seemed  to  have  donned  her  contrary  mood  ;  she  turned 
around  several  times  uneasily,  and  then  suddenly,  as 
Jasper  regained  his  seat,  shot  forward. 

"  For  what  is  our  little  life  but  vapor  ?"  It  was 
singular  how  persistently  that  passage  repeated  itself  in 
his  mind  as  he  rode  along.  "It  mus'  be  de  way  de 
teacher  hab  wid  her  readiri'  ter  make  it  stick  so.  I  don't 
hear  no  preacher  read  so  bootiful  as  !Miss  Maryon." 

"  O  Jasper,  daddy's  mighty  poorly.  I  kin  rub  dis 
yer  lin'ment  on,  I  reck'n,  widout  wakin'  him  ;  he's  sorter 
dozed  off  quiet  at  las'."  But  when  they  stooped  over  the 
bed  to  turn  back  the  covering  they  discovered  that  Uncle 
Ned  had  no  need  of  their  appliances  ;  what  were 


188          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   I2ST   VIRGINIA. 

"  lotions"  to  one  who  liad  slipped  from  the  pain-spent 
body  into  the  eternal  silence  ? 

Jinny's  face  wore  a  look  of  genuine  distress.  Ghe 
wrung  her  hands  as  she  gazed  at  the  still  face  :  "  O 
Jasper,  Jasper,  I  didn't  'spec'  he  gwine  f'r  ter  go  so 
soon,"  and  she  burst  into  violent  sobbing. 

"  Daddy  wur  ole,  an'  we  urns'  'spec'  fur  de  ole  ter  be 
tooken,"  answered  phlegmatic  Jasper.  "  Why,  Jin,  I 
neber  knowed  afore  dat  you'd  sot  yer  heart  t'  keer  so 
pow'ful  f'r  my  fadder.  1  done  hear  ye  say  a  hundred 
times  he  wur  in  yer  way.  I  reck'n  he  heerd  yer,  too." 

u  1  done  wish  he'd  a-stayed  longer,  Jasper.  I'd  got 
'roun'  ter  be  mighty  good  t'  him,  I  had.  An'  he  wur  a 
good  daddy  t'  us  always." 

"So  he  wus,  Jin.     Pow'ful  good  !" 

The  day  of  the  burial  Sally  Ann  arrived,  her  face  a 
study  of  conflicting  emotions.  "  'Pears  yer  wus  boun' 
ter  bury  my  fadder  widout  takin'  de  trouble  t'  git  word 
t'  me,  so's  I  kin  see  him  once  mo'  !  But  de  Lawd's  han' 
was  in  't  ;  I  sees  Brudder  Twine  in  de  street  yistiddy 
mo'nin',  an'  I  'quire  special  'bout  you  all.  I'se  'bleeged 
ter.  Oh,  I'se  foun'  out  a  heap  o'  s'prisin'  t'ings  !  An' 
whar's  my  Sabry  ?  1  wants  my  gal,  Jasper.  1  wants 
noth'n'  t'  say  t'  Jin,  noway.  I  'dress  myself  t'  you, 
Jasper." 

"  We  s'posed  she  war  wid  you,  Sally  Ann.  She  an' 
Jin  neber  hitched  bery  well,  an'  she  done  cl'ar  out  one 
night  an'  lef  us." 

i(  1  won't  b'lieve  it.  She  neber  come  back  t'  me. 
She  wouldn't  dare  run  off  in  de  night  no  more'n  dat  yere 
baby.  I'll  see  her  no  mo'  !  I'll  see  her  no  mo'  !  Yer 
druv'  her  away,  Jasper,  dat  yer  did,  and  de  wolves  hab 
picked  her  bones,  my  little  innercent  Sabry  !" 

Jinny  cowered  in  her  corner,  weeping. 


JASPER'S  WIFE.  189 

"  Oh  hush,  now,  Sally  Ann,  dat  fool-talk  !"  said  Jas 
per,  impatiently.  u  Yer  knows  dar  ain't  no  wolves  'tween 
yere  an'  Richmon'.  1'se  sick  o'  liearin'  sech  trash  !" 

"  Ye'll  b'  sicker  yit  'fore  ye  die,  Jasper.  I'll  see  her 
neber  no  mo'  !  B't  ef  ye've  laid  a  straw  in  my  chile's 
way  1  prays  ye  may  see  her  eb'ry  day  ob  yer  lives,  an' 
dat  yer  may  live  long,  long,  long — long  'nongh  ter  'pent 
ob  all  yer  sins  a  t'ousan'  times  over  !" 

With  this  parting  wish  fiercely  flung  over  her  shoulder, 
Sally  Ann  strode  swiftly  away.  She  stopped  over  night 
with  her  cousin  Cesar,  partly  to  refresh  her  weariness,  but 
chiefly  to  "  open  up  her  heart"  of  its  surging  burden  of 
angry  grief. 

"Not  one  hour  c'd  I  stay  in  dat  house.  'Pears  like 
I  c'd  see  dat  de  curse  wur  workin'.  Oh,  ef  I  c'd  see 
my  f adder  one  ininnit  ter  ax  him  !  Cesar,  did  him  eber 
say  a  word  ter  yer  ?" 

"  Only  once.  I  lay  it  ter  'count  ob  his  dozin'  like. 
'Twill  make  ailin'  folk  talk  silly  like,  yer  knows.  Says 
he,  i  I  sleeps  an'  I  don't  sleep,  Cesar.  An'  I  sees  a  many 
t'ings.  Dar's  a  jedgment  a-comin'  !'  But  I  dunno  what 
he  meant." 

"  I  does,  den.  An'  I  knowed  it  wur  a- workin'." 
Sally  Ann's  eyes  shone.  "  I  kin 'ford  ter  le'be  it  all  ter 
de  Lawd,  Cesar." 

"  Dat's  so.  Ole  Mas'r  neber  makes  no  mistakes.  An' 
all  de  odds  ob  life  come  out  evens  in  His  han'." 


190          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   Iff   VIRGINIA. 


XXYI. 


"  DE  peacli  trees  liab  bio  wed  out  mighty  peart,  Jin. 
Heck'n  'twould  do  yer  a  heap  o'  good  ef  yer  made  up  y' 
mind  t'  take  a  walk  out.  Why  can't  yer  hoof  it  to  de 
sto',  an'  I'll  see  ter  de  baby,  suah  'nough." 

Jinny  shook  her  head,  listlessly.  "  I  don't  seem  ter 
want  t'  go,  Jasper.  I  c'dn't  be  cotched  out  arter  dark, 
ye  know,  an'  I  don't  'pear  t'  keer  'bout  goin'  anywhar 
lately,  or  'bout  seein'  nobody." 

"  I  knows  it,  Jin,"  said  Jasper,  sadly.  "  I  seed  yer 
hab  fell  away  'mazin'  sence  daddy  lef  us.  Yer  looks  as 
ef  y'd  had  a  fit  o'  sickness,  suah.  'Tain't  jes'  nat'ral  f'r 
young  folks  ter  hive  up  in  de  chimbley  corner  same  's 
you've  tooken  t'  doin'." 

"  Oh  hush,  man,  hush,  I  tell  yer  !  What  wur  dat  yer 
sister  Sally  Ann  said  :  '  Ye'll  b'  sicker  'fore  ye  die.' 
Wall,  dat's  so.  Yer  ought  ter  be  glad  ef  I  c'ld  die  ; 
mabbe  de  curse  would  git  shooken  off  me  den." 

Jasper  said  no  more.     Presently  she  resumed  : 

"  Sally  Ann's  allers  been  known  as  a  witch.  De 
minnit  I  seed  her  face  dat  day  I  knowed  de  hag-fit  wus  on 
her.  Her  eyes  wur  so  blazin'  hot  dey  fairly  scorched 
mine,  an',  Jasper,  I  couldn't  meet  'em  ag'in." 

ff  Sally  ain't  no  witch  now  ;  she  done  got  'ligion  years 
ago,"  said  Jasper,  mildly.  "  I  don't  set  no  gre't  by  her, 
I  'low,  b't,  Jin,  she  ain't  no  call  t'  set  no  gre't  by  us, 
hab  she  ?" 

Jinny  shrank  a  little  closer  to  the  jamb,  as  if  for  pro 
tection.  She  made  an  effort  to  shake  off  the  feeling  of 


191 

abasement  which  she  felt  creeping  over  her,  and  for  an 
instant  the  old  malicious  gleam  quivered  in  her  eyes. 
"  I  could  tear  her  inter  inch  pieces,"  she  hissed  forth, 
with  sudden  fury,  as  the  hot  tears  fell,  drop  by  drop,  on 
her  baby's  head. 

The  little  fellow  lifted  his  eyes  in  wonder.  "  Mammy 
neber  loved  little  Ned  s'  well  as  now.  An'  I  ain't  done 
fit  t'  love  ye  none,  I  'low." 

"  Ye  neber  wur  so  mild  as  now,  Jin,"  interpreted 
Jasper,  half  in  awe  of  his  own  words,  "  an'  I  reck'n  dat 
true  love  is  noth'n'  b't  mildness." 

u  Ef  only  1  might  hab  a  retrial,  Jasper  ;  ef  1  c'd  sort 
o'  be  sot  back  ag'in  whar  I  wur  a  year  ago  !" 

Jasper  shook  his  head.  "  We  mus'  g'  on,  1  'spec's,  as 
we  hab  b'gun.  'Taint  like  stepp'n'  ober  t'  a  neighbor's 
an'  back  as  we  chuse,  Jin." 

u  Can't  yer  see,  Jasper,  dat  hit's  what's  wearin'  all  de 
flesh  loose  on  my  bones  ?  Dar  ain't  no  hour  ob  any  day 
when  I.  don't  hear  Sabry's  voice  :  i  I'll  say  good-by  fus', 
Jinny.'  An'  it's  ten  thousan'  times  I've  heerd  it  a'ready, 
an'  a  year  not  gone  yit  !  I  can't  b'ar  it  no  longer, 
Jasper. 

"  No  ;  you  don't  say  noth'n',  an'  I  knows  yer  can't. 
4  Yer  tnus'  b'ar  it,  yer  mus'  b'ar  it,'  dat's  what  1  hear 
night  an'  day.  Whar  do  de  words  cum  fr'm  ?  Do  dey 
spring  up  outen  de  groun'  in  de  stillness  ?" 

"  Ef  ye'd  go  away  more  out  do'  ?"  suggested  Jasper, 
"  as  I  does." 

u  Oh  hush,  man,  hush  !  Dat's  worser  dan  t'  stay  clus'. 
Eb'ryt'ing  I  see  or  hear — an'  de  rain  an'  de  patter  ob  feet 
up  an'  down,  oh,  s'  tired  like  !" 

"  How  did  yer  mean,  Jin,  when  yer  said  'bout  trial  T' 
whispered  Jasper,  under  his  breath. 

"  Dar's  gwine  ter  be  a-baptizin'  soon  's   de  weather 


193          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   Itf   VIRGINIA. 

gits  warmer,  an'  'pears  like,  Jasper,  ef  I  kin  git  through 
de  water  ag'in  wid  de  new  members,  dat  1  mought  shift 
dis  yer  weight  off  ;  ef  I  did  I  sh'ld  know  dat  de  Lawd 
wur  gwine  t'  gib  me  a  retrial.  Oh,  good  Has'r,  I'd  do 
better  dan  befo'  ef  y'd  gi'  me  a  retrial  !" 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Jasper,  doubtfully,  "  ef  de  church'd 
consent.  'Tain't  'cordin'  t'  de  laws  ob  de  church.  B't 
we  mought  try  it,  Jinny.  Ef  datfs  what  yer  meant,  I 
hopes  yer  11  b'  'lowed  t'  try  it." 

There  was  a  stir  of  excitement  in  Pleasant  Grove 
Church  one  Sunday  in  June,  when  it  became  generally 
known  that  among  the  new  members  drawn  up  for  the 
walk  to  the  baptismal  waters  stood  Jinny  Twitchel.  She 
stood  unmoved  at  the  suppressed  murmur  of  voices  of 
exclamation  and  inquiry.  Her  face  told  a  tale  of  suffer 
ing,  which  appealed  swiftly  to  the  warm  sympathies  of  a 
charitable  people.  The  need  for  sorrow  was  quite  for 
gotten  in  their  efforts  to  appease  the  poignancy  of  the 
sting. 

Large-hearted  Dinah  Peachy  rose  to  the  occasion.  Ap 
pealed  to  on  every  side  for  particulars,  as  being  of  kin, 
and  therefore  certain  to  know,  she  wove,  in  a  series  of 
fragmentary  whispers,  a  tale  more  thrilling  than  the 
quiet  dames  had  ever  heard  before. 

"  Po'  lam'  !"  "  Po'  creetur  !"  "  Yis,  we'se  all  boun' 
fur  t'  holp  Sist'r  Jinny  shake  off  Satan."  "  Him  got  a 
mighty  hard  clutch  on  her,  suah,"  were  gratifying  ex 
pressions  to  Dinah. 

"  We'll  sing  'em  to  de  water  now,"  and  the  long  pro 
cession  began  the  half  mile  walk  to  the  pond,  singing  in 
a  jubilant,  chanting  tone,  "We're  a-gwine  to  de  water 
f'r  t'  be  baptized  !"  Over  and  over  it  rose,  like  the  cry 
of  an  advancing  army,  as  Miss  Marian  stood  in  her  door 
and  listened. 


JINNY'S  "  RETRIAL."  193 

"  How  strangely  it  recalls  the  expression  c  A  multi 
tude  of  waters  !'  "  she  murmured. 

Reaching  the  pond  they  found  the  banks  already 
crowded  with  spectators.  It  looked  like  a  festal  scene. 
The  crisp  glories  of  summer  toilets  of  the  young  girls, 
hoarded  for  weeks  for  this  occasion,  spread  like  rainbow 
plumage  around.  Turbaned  with  white  kerchiefs  and 
draped,  nun-like,  with  black,  close  clinging  gowns,  the 
converts  of  the  previous  year  clustered  in  the  rear. 

Brother  Daniel,  with  his  white  hair  and  many  wrinkles 
and  his  robe,  looked  like  a  prophet  descending  into  the 
water.  A  few  remarks  he  addressed  to  each  neophyte 
as  he  or  she  was  handed  down  to  his  outstretched  arms  : 
"  1  bery  glad,  Brudder  Luke,  t'  see  you  here  ;  dese  am 
de  portals  ob  hebben  !"  "  Oh,  Brudder  Willum,  yVe 
waited  till  de  'leventh  hour,  b't  His  mercy  endureth 
f'rever  !"  "  Oh,  Sist'r  Jinny,  £  Come  unto  me  all  dat  am 
heavy  laden,  an'  1  will  giv'  ye  rest !'  "  All  these  re 
marks  were  interspersed  with  hymns  of  rejoicing,  and 
consumed  many  hours  ;  and  as  Jasper  stood,  a  silent  spec 
tator,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  wished  he  were  of 
the  number  coming  up  on  the  banks  with  happy  counte 
nances. 

The  year  wore  around  to  its  harvest  time.  Jasper 
grew  to  fear  entering  his  home,  it  was  so  silent  and 
empty -looking.  Like  a  shadow  Jinny  sat  in  her  accus 
tomed  place,  watching  by  turns  the  smouldering  logs 
on  the  hearth  and  her  toddling  boy.  She  had  an  aged 
look — her  face  was  wrinkled  and  her  cheeks  hollow  ; 
as  she  walked  she  bent  over,  as  with  the  weight  of 
years. 

Jasper  said  to  the  usual  polite  inquiries:  "  Jin  am 
right  poorly  wid  c'nsum'tion.  No,  she  don't  hab  no 
cough,  an'  she  'sist  on't  she  well  as  eber  ;  b't  stan's  ter 


194          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

reason  she  am  boun'  ter  drap  off  wid  de  fallin'  leaves, 
onless  slie  kin  git  holp  soon. " 

Jinny  offered  no  more  objections  to  Jasper's  frequent 
absence  from  home.  There  were  corn-slmckings  desir 
able  to  attend  round  about  in  the  neighboring  planta 
tions.  The  year  was  rounding  to  its  close  with  jollity 
and  humble  feasting  and  the  garnering  of  precious  grain  ; 
it  was  like  a  holiday,  except  for  the  lack  of  idleness. 

"  Oh,  go  ef  yer  want  ter  ;  it  don't  matter  any  more  to 
me  !"  Jasper  grew  so  used  to  hear  Jinny  say,  that  some 
times  he  forgot  to  ask  her,  If  he  thought  of  her  amid  the 
riotous  mirth,  it  was  chiefly  to  wonder  how  she  could  so 
resign  herself  to  solitude  and  silent  hours. 

She  went  no  more  to  her  church.  When  Marian 
sought  gently  to  persuade  her  that  it  was  not  right  to 
drop  all  the  old  privileges  once  so  highly  prized,  she 
answered,  listlessly,  u  It  don't  do  me  no  good.  I  can't 
git  a  holt  on  'ligion  'nough  t'  save  me.  Dar  now  !  I 
done  go  inter  de  water  ag'in  t'  see  'f  1  c'dn't  drap  hit 
off.  B't  1  c'dn't,  Miss  Maryon,  I  c'dn't.  Mabbe 
'twar'n't  'zackly  Scripter  t'  be  baptized  twice.  I  dunno. 
I  tried  de  bes'  I  knowed." 

"  I  am  sure  you  did,  Jinny.  It  will  all  come  right 
some  day.  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"  Will  it,  Miss  Maryon  ?"  The  wan  face  uplifted 
eagerly.  "  You  know  a  heap  o'  t'ings  dat  I  can't  see 
no  b'ginnin'  nor  endin'  to.  B'tl  sha'n't  lose  lilt  in  dis 
yer  life,  1  feel  sure.  Sally  Ann  said — " 

"  There  now,  Jinny,  don't  repeat  it.  She  doesn't 
know  any  more  than  yourself.  I  wish  you  could 
have  a  change  of  scene.  Come  to  my  house  and  stay 
awhile. " 

Jinny  shook  her  head.  "  1  don'  want  no  change, 
Miss  Maryon." 


195 

The  teacher  that  evening  sought  to  bring  the  new 
minister,  Mr.  Samuels,  to  her  aid  in  this  matter. 

"  1  really  think  this  is  a  case  which  calls  for  your 
utmost  clerical  skill.  This  human  heart,  in  the  depths  of 
affliction,  should  be  reached  and  saved  to  happiness.  It 
is  a  case  of  utter  and  abject  misery,"  she  vehemently 
pleaded. 

"  It  is  a  case  of  c  conjuring,'  as  they  call  it  here.  I 
know  nothing  of  such  matters,  Miss  Stone.  When  I  see 
to  what  ignorant  extremities  my  race  can  go,  I  feel  like 
blessing  the  Providence  which  cast  my  birth  and  rear 
ing  in  the  North.  I  will  do  my  best  to  reduce  the  mass 
of  ignorance  around  me.  I  will  preach  Christ  crucified 
to  all  who  wTill  come  to  hear.  I  will  give  of  iny  sub 
stance  to  the  needy.  Can  any  more  be  reasonably 
exacted  of  me  ?"  he  finished,  smiling. 

"Nothing  is  '  exacted,' sir,"  she  replied,  somewhat 
curtly.  "  There  is  such  a  thing  as  soul  sympathy, 
though  you  seem  not  to  be  aware  of  it.  If  you  have  a 
lot  superior  to  that  of  these  people,  consider  if  it  is  not 
noble  and  kind  to  reach  down  from  your  height  and  draw 
them  upward.  They  will  not  go  to  hear  you  preach,  if 
this  subtle  bond  between  you  be  lacking." 

"It  must  be  'lacking,'  then,"  he  said,  good  1m- 
moredly,  "  for  there  are  very  few  who  do  come  to  my 
meetings.  They  appear  to  be  afraid  of  me  because  I  am 
not  a  Baptist.  I  can't  hire  them  to  come  to  my  preach 
ing.  " 

"There  are  ways  and  ways,"  said  Marian,  senten- 
tiously,  as  she  left  him  somewhat  abruptly. 

"  Is  there  no  one  you  can  get  to  stay  with  Jinny  ?"  in 
quired  Marian  of  Jasper.  "  She  is  alone  so  much,  and 
she  appears  to  me  very  feeble." 

"  She  am  so  f'rsartain,  MissMaryon  ;  but  Jinny  won't 


196          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   LS   VIRGINIA. 

go  f  r  t'  hub  nobody.  She  say  dey  wouldn't  stay  long 
noway,  an'  she  neber  am  'lone  neidder.  Jin's  used  ter 
stayin',  an'  I'mgwine  t'  be  home  more  now  de  shuck' a1 
am  done.  Mighty  peart  baby  we  hab  dere,  Miss  Mar- 
yon  !  Little  Ned's  a  heap  ob  comfort  ter  Jin." 

The  wind-swept  forest  leaves  drifted  into  crimson  and 
russet  heaps  on  the  ground.  Jasper  came  home  one  day 
late  in  the  afternoon  to  find  the  fire  out  and  the  baby 
sitting  among  the  dead  embers,  crying  with  cold  and 
hunger.  He  was  angry  at  the  sight  of  Jinny  sitting  with 
drooping  head  resting  against  the  logside  of  the  cabin, 
as  if  asleep,  and  unmindful  of  these  common  duties 
around  her. 

"  Jin,"  he  called  out,  roughly,  "  Jin  !"  He  advanced 
and  shook  her,  but  she  only  fell  over  toward  him  with 
face  still  bowed,  and  a  terror  seized  on  Jasper  as  he  laid 
her  gently  down  on  the  rough  floor. 

"  O  good  Mas'r,"  came  from  his  trembling  lips, 
"  my  Jin  hab  done  gone  an'  lef  me  !  No  need  f'r  a 
doctor  ter  tell  me  dat.  Ned,  little  Ned  !  Come  yere, 
chile,  pap  'II  wrap  yer  up  warm  an'  see  ter  ye.  Le'  me 
git  my  breath  fus'  !  I'se  all  in  a  quiver." 

"  I  hopes  now,"  Cesar  said  to  him  the  following  day, 
"  dat  Sist'r  Jinny  'II  git  her  new  trial  as  she's  done 
cross  Jurdan.  She  wur  a  'mazin'  sufferer,  suah. " 

"  It's  gwine  t'  be  a  stormy  day  f'r  de  buryin',  1  'low, 
Cesar  ;  b't  'twon't  make  no  difl'rurice  t'  Jin,  as  I  knows 


"  Uncle  Dan'll  am  sick  wid  az'my,  Jasper,  air  won't 
b'  able  ter  induct  de  sarvices  ;  b't  I  reck'n  yer  won't  hab 
no  'jection  t'  Mr.  Sam'lls,  an'  he  say  he  glad  ter  do  all 
he  kin  t'  holp  yer." 

"  No,  Cesar,  it  don't  make  no  diffrunce  t'  Jin.  You 
git  who  you  chuse." 


"RETRIAL."  197 

"  I  dunno  b't  I'm  ter  blame  'bout  dat  yer  sarmon," 
said  Cesar,  afterward,  in  a  church  council.  "  1  c'nfess 
1  was  s'rprised  when  Brudder  Sarn'lls  gin  out  f'r  his 
tex?,  'Jesus  C'ris'  came  inter  de  worP  t'  save  sinners, 
of  whom  thou  art  de  chief.'  S'pos'n'  one  hadn't  done 
quite  right  ;  'tain't  de  time  t'  twit  'em  ob  it  when  dey 
lies  ready  f  r  de  grave.  Sist'r  Jinny  was  a  sinner,  suah 
'nough,  b't  de  way  I  look  at  it,  Brudder  Bobbins,  we 
mus'  tell  'ern  ob  it  when  dey  kin  hit  back,  or  hoi'  our 
tongue." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you're  t'  blame,  Cesar." 

"  Why,  'twas  my  pr'posal  t'  hab  a  Presb'ter'an  bury- 
in',  as  dere  wa'n't  no  Baptist  preacher  handy  by,  an'  dis 
yer  am  what  comes  ob  it.  Jasper,  he  wur  snortin'  mad, 
I  tell  ye,  an'  it's  jes'  drs  :  dey're  my  kinfolks,  an'  1  pities 
'em.  I  don't  r'ally  t'ink  Jasper'd  made  dat  row  wid 
Sally  Ann  at  de  grave,  ef  he  hadn't  got  sort  o'  riled  up 
befo'  on  'count  ob  dat  Presb'ter'an  tex'. 

"  An'  how  she  come  t'  hear  dat  Jinny  wur  dead  I 
dunno,"  he  presently  added.  "•!  would  a  kep'  de  news 
fr'm  her,  b't  she  come  pouncin'  in  jes'  as  we'd  started 
f  r  Jones's  Trac'.  '  I'll  walk  'long  o'  ye,  Cousin  Cesar,' 
she  say,  6  as  we  bof  b'longs  'mong  de  mo'ners.'  1  giv' 
one  glance  at -her  face,  an'  see  dat  she  meant  mischief." 

"  I  seed  her  a-work'n'  an'  edgin'  'ronn'  t'  git  clus'  ter 
Jasper,  when  dey  wur  fillin'  up  de  grave,"  put  in  a  quiet 
voice  behind  Cesar,  "  an'  when  she  hiss  out,  '  Plow  does 
it  wurk,  Jasper  ? '  den  he  burs'  out  in  his  fury  : 

"  '  How  come  you  here,  you  witch  ?  T'  look  'pon 
yer  pleasant  work  ? ' 

"  '  'Tain't  done  yit,  Jasper,  as  you'll  fin'  out,'  she 
smile  back.  I  c'dn't  feel  t'  blame  de  po'  man  f'r 
cussin'  as  dey  led  him  away  f'r  fear  he'd  go  f  r  t'  strike 
her." 


198          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER    IN   VIRGINIA. 

"  It  wnr  an  awful  scene,"  said  Cesar,  solemnly.  "  I 
neber  refused  shelter  t'  a  livin'  soul  'fore  dat  night  ;  b't 
I  tole  Sally  Ann  1  c'dn't  let  her  stay  wid  us," 

"  An'  what'll  Jasper  do  now  ?"  queried  several. 

"  I  dunno.  He's  sort  o'  broke  up  so.  Dinah  she 
goes  over  t'  do  what  she  kin.  S'pose  he's  in  ole  Mas'r's 
han's,  like  de  res'  ob  us.  He'll  do  wid  him  as  He  t'inks 
bes'." 


XXVII. 


cc  BRUDDER  SAM'LLS'S  HOUSEWARMING." 


u  I'SE  gwine  up,  Cesar,  ter  ho]p  git  t'ings  fixed  up  in 
Mr.  Sam'lls's  house.  He  gone  ter  Richmon'  dis  day  ter 
brung  his  wife  down,  Sist'r  Molly  say.  An'  de  house- 
warmin'  am  comin'  oft'  dis  ebenin'.  Molly  been  up  bef  o' 
t'  see  ter  de  scrubbV  up,  an'  she  say  de  fine  furniture 
dat  hab  cum  down  am  a  sight  ter  see.  Dare's  an  orgin, 
too,  an'  his  wife  is  said  ter  play  bootiful.  An'  we'se 
gwine  ter  hab  a  nice  supper  ready  f'r  'em  when  dey 
come." 

"  I  fought  you'd  hev'  f  hoi'  up  a  spell,  Dinah," 
smiled  Cesar,  good-naturedly.  "  Yer  ain't  'customed  f'r 
f  make  s'  long  a  speech  widout  breathing." 

u  Dar  now,  ole  man,  ef  yer  ain't  sassy  yer  c'n  cum 
up  ter  supper  wid  de  res',"  Dinah  chuckled,  as  she  hast 
ened  away.  "  Mr.  Sam'lls  say  he  wants  a  right-down 
ole  Yirginny  housewrarmin'." 

"  Hi  !"  mused  Cesar  to  himself,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire 


"BRUDDER  SAM'LLS'S  HOUSEWARMI^G."        199 

shaping  a  handle  to  fit  his  grubbing-hoe,  "  1  'spec's 
Brudder  Sam'lls  won't  fit  our  Yirginny  ways  an'  cus 
toms  ef  he  try  de  hardes'  he  kin.  He  am  as  black  as 
any  in  dis  Ian',  b't,  somehow,  he  don't  seem  tor  b'long  t' 
us  none.  1  can't  diskiver  de  reason  why.  Dere's  a  pas 
sage  ob  Scripter  dat  fits  de  circumstance,  b't  I  disremem- 
ber  it  jes'  now.  Dinah,  now,  is  apter  dan  me  ;  'spec's 
she'd  hitch  onter  it  ef  she  wur  here. 

"  1  wonder  ef  de  darkies  up  Norf  am  all  dat  style, 
same  's  Brudder  Sam'lls  ?  It's  a  great  condition  f'r  one 
ter  be  raised  up  Norf.  I  spec's  I  c'd  stan'  it  right  well 
dar — till  de  winter  set  in  !  I'd  ruther  hab  one  inch 
ob  b'ar  groun'  in  ole  Yirginny  dan  a  ten-acre  lot  all 
kivered  three  foot  deep  wid  snow  up  dere. 

"  i  wonder  ef  Bnidder  Sam'lls  t'inks  we  oughter 
bow  down  befo'  him  'case  he  done  got  eddication  an' 
hab  sot  hisself  up  higher' n  we  po'  plantation  han's  ? 
'Pears  like  dar's  somet'ing  in  de  way  he  looks  at  us  dat 
say,  i  Yer  c'n't  pr'sume  none  on  dis  yer  one.'  An' 
Cesar  am  sartain  suah  not  t'  want  ter." 

From  Cesar's  revery  it  will  be  seen  in  what  estimation 
the  Rev.  John  Samuels  was  held  by  the  colored  people 
he  had  come  to  minister  unto. 

"  A  good  man — a  thoroughly  good  man,' '  Miss  Marian 
was  fond  of  saying.  u  If  you  will  let  him  he  will  help 
you." 

But  many  did  not  feel  inclined  to  "  let  him."  They 
straggled  in  to  his  meetings,  often  merely  at  their  clos 
ing  exercises,  that  they  might  report  such  attendance  to 
the  teacher.  He  scrupled  not  to  exhibit  the  annoyance 
he  felt. 

In  turn,  his  bluff,  straightforward  manners  annoyed 
their  finer  sense  of  the  courtesy  due  one  individual  (as 
such)  to  another  ;  in  genuine  politeness  of  manner  these 


200          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

Virginia  negroes  were  superior  to  the  Northern  mission 
ary. 

Two  years  had  elapsed  since  he  came  among  them. 
He  had  purchased  land  and  erected  a  pretty  cottage  and 
married,  during  this  interval,  a  pretty  yellow  girl,  with  a 
slight  figure,  a  springy  step,  and  an  amiable  disposi 
tion.  The  little  house  was  ablaze  with  light  and  merri 
ment  when  the  owners  thereof  came  home. 

"I  'clar',  Sist'r  Molly,"  whispered  Dinah  Peachy, 
after  the  uproar  of  arrival  had  subsided,  "she  sech  a 
slim  bird  dat  you  or  1  would  make  forty  ob  her. ' '  Her 
face  shone  with  suppressed  laughter,  and  she  vigorously 
polished  it  with  a  corner  of  her  ample  white  apron. 

"  I  c'd  crush  her  'thout  halftrym'.  I  reck'n,  dough, 
she  ain't  pow'ful  skeerd  les'  1  try  ;  hi,  Sist'r  Dinah  ?" 

' '  We1  II  take  keer  on  her, ' '  answered  Dinah,  shaking 
her  head  emphatically.  "  She  mighty  peart  gal." 

"  And  now,  friends  and  neighbors,  we  invite  you  all  to 
supper."  Mr.  Samuels  waved  one  long  arm  over  the 
heads  of  those  nearest  him.  "  These  good  ladies  have 
prepared  us  a  feast  indeed  ;  their  generous  kindness  I 
fully  appreciate.  Let  us  give  thanks  and  partake  of  the 
abundance  spread  before  us. " 

"  Molly,  Molly,"  whispered  Dinah,  excitedly,  "  does 
yer  see  my  pair  o'  roast  chick 'ns  anywhar  ?  1  'clar'  t' 
goodness  I  put  'em  on  de  platter  myself,  right  befo'  Mr. 
Sam'lls's  plate,  an'  de  platter  an'  all  am  gone.  'Mazin' 
strange  dat  be  !"  She  clutched  Aunt  Molly's  gown  and 
said,  "-Ax  down  a  piece,  b'low  ye,  an'  see  if  any  ob 
'em  c'ntell  'bout  it?" 

"  Yis,  yis,"  whispered  Nanny  Bangs  ;  "I  saw  it  all 
myself.  While  you  wus  shakin'  han's  widde  preacher's 
wife,  a  woman  took  dat  platter  off  de  table  quick's  a 
wink.  I  seed  her  go  inter  de  pantry,  b't  coorse  1 


"BRUDDER  SAM'LLS'S  HOUSEWARMING.  "        201 

t'ought  'twa'n't  fixed  up  t'  suit  her,  or  suth'n'."  Aunt 
Dinah  went  swiftly  to  the  pantry,  without  apology  or 
excuse,  and  found  the  dish  empty. 

"  Let's  step  out  an'  see  ef  we  kin  fin'  her,"  whispered 
Nanny,  who  was  young  and  spry,  and  who  dearly  loved 
a  joke. 

All  was  still  outside.  They  paced  around  the  dwell 
ing.  "  Hush  !"  whispered  Nanny,  "  don't  you  see  a 
figure  hurrying  down  dat  hill  ober  yander  ?" 

Dinah  thought  she  did,  but  was  not  sure. 

"  Ne^er  min',  Aunt  Dinah.  I'll  race  an'  see  who  'tis, 
an'  you  f oiler  on  as  yer  kin."  Nanny  was  oE  like  the 
wind. 

4i  0  chile,  I'd  give  my  best  spread  ef  I  c'd  run  like 
dat,"  panted  Dinah,  doing  her  best  to  keep  within  talk 
ing  distance. 

"  What  are  you  going  so  swift  for  ?  Stop,  I  say,"  call 
ed  Nanny  to  the  woman  hurrying  on  still  faster. 
«  Why  don't  yer  stop  ?"  and  racing  up  she  fixed  her 
vigorous  claws  in  her  woolly  hair.  "  Dar  now,  Jane 
Morris,  ye'll  stop,  I'se  toler'ble  suah,  nex'  time  I  axes 
ye.  I  seed  ye  at  de  minister's  party.  What  yer  gwine 
'way  for  'fore  'freshmints  are  served  ?  De  minister  feel 
so  mort'fied  dat  he  sent  me  t'  tell  yer  t'  come  back  an' 
hab  some  roast  chick'n  wid  him,  suah. " 

"  I  much  'bleeged  ter  him  f'r  de  invite,"  said  Jane, 
folding  her  shawl  still  closer,  "  b't  de  chilluns  am  ailin' 
some,  an'  I  promised  I  wouldn't  stay  long.  Le'  go  my 
haV,  please." 

"  Mus'  I  go  back,  den,  an'  tell  de  po'  waitin'  minister 
dat  yer  slights  his  invitation  ter  supper  ?  Well,  den,  I 
c'n't  hab  de  face  ter  do  dat  'less  ye  gibs  me  de  chick 'ns 
t'  tote  back  in  yer  place." 

"  What  chick'ns  ?    Yer  mils'  b'  done  crazy  t'  run  an' 


202          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

pull  a  woman's  lia'r  out  her  hade  an'  call  f ' r  chick 'ns  ! 
I  ain't  got  no  chick1  ns  'cept  dose  on  de  roost." 

"  Aunt  Dinah"  (to  that  worthy,  who  now  came  up 
gasping  and  holding  her  sides),  "  what  made  you 
come  so  fas'  ?  I'd  as  soon  wait  a  little  longer." 

"  But  /  can't  wait,"  said  Jane,  vainly  striving  to  free 
herself  from  Nanny's  clasp.  "  I'll  take  de  law  on  ye,  I 
will,  a-usin'  a  po'  woman  so  in  de  publick  road  as  is 
free  t'  all  !"  She  began  to  cry. 

"  Dar  now,  stupid,  gi'  me  de  brilers  fus'  an'  cry 
arterward,"  said  Nanny,  impatiently.  "I'll  lose  my 
supper  ef  I  stan'  argyin'  all  night." 

"  Ef  ye  do,  honey,"  put  in  Dinah,  quickly,  "  I'll  cook 
ye  de  famousest  supper  eber  ye  an'  yer  young  man  set 
down  ter.'' 

"  My  !"  said  Nanny,  simpering  a  little.  "  Mabbe 
I'll  stay,  den.  Aunt  Dinah  c'n  cook,  I  know. 

"  Bat  no.  ril  diskiver  fr  myself,"  and  with  a  jerk 
of  the  free  arm  she  tore  off  the  shawl,  and  lo  !  the  hid 
ing-place  was  revealed. 

"  Fi,  shame,  Jane  !"  began  Dinah ;  but  Nanny 
fiercely  shook  her,  and  she  handed  out  the  fowls,  with 
many  tears  dropping  freely  on  them. 

66 1  t'ink,  honey,  dat  ye've  'arned  dat  supper,  anyway," 
laughed  Dinah,  as  the  pair  slowly  retraced  their  steps, 
"and  ye  shall  hav'  it,  I  promise  ye.  "What  will  Mr. 
Sam'lls  t'ink  ob  ole  Dinah  prancin'  off  so  sudden  ?  I 
'clar',  now  I  stop  ter  sense  it,  'pears  I  acted  as  ef  I  win* 
crazy."  She  shook  with  merriment. 

"  You  make  me  laugh,  too,  Aunt  Dinah.  It  wus 
funny  t'  see  yer  pantin'  an'  gaspin'.  Law,  it  didn't  tire 
me  a  hit !  An'  I  cotched  her  fr  once.  It's  hard  t'  do 
it,  she's  so  sly.  What'll  yer  do  wid  dese  ?  Can't  take 


MRS.    SHEPARDSON.  203 

"  Oh,  I  don't  keep  what  yer  do  !  'Twar'n't  do 
chick'ns  I  keered  'bout ;  I  wur  boun'  t'  know  wliar  dey 
went  ter.  Mabbe  I'd  oughter  a  let  her  tooken  'em  t' 
dose  chilluns  ;  I  don't  s'pose  dey  git  too  much,  t'  eat. 
I  wish  I  hed  !" 

^  ' '  Pshaw  !  I  know  what  t'  do.  Gi'  me  them  ;  yer 
go  in,  an'  I'll  slip  in  bam-by."  Sly  Nanny  slid  into  the 
pantry  unperceived,  and  carefully  arranged  the  chickens 
on  a  dainty,  gilt-edged  dish  she  found  there,  put  a  wire 
screen  over  it,  saying,  "  There's  breakfas'  ready,  now, 
widout  no  trouble  at  all  on  de  eater's  part.  Wish  I 
c'd  be  allers  sure  ob  one  as  good  and  noth'n'  t'  gib 
f'r  't." 


XXVIII. 

MRS.     SHEPARDSON. 

MARIAN  was  writing  to  friends  in  New  England  : 
"  Love  for  Virginia  grows  stronger  with  years.  It  is  a 
grand  old  State.  I  am  beginning  to  understand  it  now 
— the  secret  of  the  passion  she  inspires  in  those  native  to 
her  soil.  It  surely  is  her  sunny  temper.  Her  skies  are 
blue  and  clear  when  yours,  away  in  Berkshire,  are 
leaden-tinted.  The  sun  shines,  brightening  the  wintry 
aspect  of  nature.  One  here  forgets  to  long  for  the 
spring." 

A  tap  at  her  door,  followed  by  Mr.  Samuels.  "  Ah  ! 
you  are  writing  ;  I  will  not  disturb  you." 

Marian  smiled  as  she  remembered  that  during  his  early 
sojourn  in  the  neighborhood  he  manifested  no  such 


204          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

scruple.  "  Truly,  we  receive  as  well  as  give,"  she 
murmured.  "  This  good  man  is  acquiring  gradually 
a  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things — a  polish  formerly  for 
eign.  But  doubtless  the  little  wife  has  some  credit  for 
that." 

"  Come  in,"  she  called,  cheerily.  "  My  letter  is  not 
urgent.  Come  and  tell  me  what  my  people  have 
been  doing  to  you  lately." 

He  smiled  rather  grimly  as  he  seated  himself  in 
Marian's  most  luxurious  chair.  "  I  wish,  Miss  Stone, 
that  I  could  truthfully  affirm  with  a  portion,  only,  of 
your  confidence,  these  are  (  my  people.'  " 

As  she  looked  at  him,  inquiringly,  he  resumed  : 
"  And  why  can't  I  feel  that  they  belong  to  me  and  I  to 
them  ?  The  same  African  lineage,  and  yet  we  seem  as 
totally  unlike  as  if  in  different  planets. 

66 1  preach  the  truths  I  know  and  revere,  in  the  plain 
est  language  I  can  choose,  and  though  they  appear  to 
give  respectful  attention  to  every  word,  I  feel  (even  as  I 
speak)  that  the  seed  drops  on  stony  ground,  and  there'll 
be  no  harvest. 

u  Consider  the  result  of  my  two  years'  work  here  ! 
What  is  my  church  ?  One  ex- Baptist,  excommunicated 
for  some  offence  against  the  deacons,  and  smarting  with 
impotent  rage  at  '  de  deadly  insult  t'  his  feelin's,'  as  he 
puts  it,  concludes  to  (  turn  Presb'ter'an  '  to  spite  his 
enemies.  And  a  few  young  people  followed  him,  influ 
enced  by  the  novelty  of  the  thing.  So  little  to  show  for 
my  labor  of  years  !" 

Marian  smiled.  "  It  is  disappointing,  I  admit.  I  did 
not  think  that  your  object  in  coming  here  was  wholly  to 
build  up  a  church.  Ah  !  that  will  take  time." 

"  It  appears  so,  indeed,  Miss  Stone.  I  think  that  I 
made  a  mistake  in  the  attempt.  Missionary  work  is  not 


MRS.    SHEPARDSOtf.  205 

exactly  what  I  am  best  fitted  for.  And  there  are  oilier 
drawbacks.  If  my  wife  and  I  go  away  for  a  few  days' 
visit,  we  do  not  find  our  property  intact  on  our  return. 
Ko,  indeed.  Our  chickens  disappeared  mysteriously, 
and  it  is  always  (  de  mink  done  cotch  'em,'  or  '  I  seed  a 
Weasel  t'  other  night  'roun'  ;  mus'  a-kotch  'em.'  " 

Marian's  laugh  rang  out  merrily  at  his  mimicry. 

"No.  We  alternate  our  visiting  now.  When  my 
wife  goes,  I  stay.  They  respect  your  fowls,  Miss  Stone. 
I  do  not  think  in  my  case  that  they  can  bring  up  their 
old  plantation  days'  excuse  for  pilfering — (  dat  it  were 
right  for  'em  t'  take  white  folks'  property,  as  dey  was 
only  property  demselves.'  The  fact  is,  these  people  have 
no  moral  sense." 

"  It  will  take  time  to  develop  it,  friend  Samuels. 
How  can  we  blame  them  ?"  answered  Marian,  warmly. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Stone,  I  think  they  never  will  have 
another  such  advocate  as  yourself  !"  cried  the  minister. 
"  To  the  blunt  array  of  their  shortcomings  and  failures 
you  are  ever  ready  with  the  same,  c  It  will  take  time '  to 
bring  about  their  regeneration.  So  much  of  it,"  he 
smiled,  ironically,  "  so  long  a  time,  that  I  fear  my  cour 
age  will  ooze  away  before  I  see  the  least  accomplish 
ment." 

"  There  is  a  seed  time,  Mr.  Samuels,  and  there  is  a 
harvest  time.  It  may  well  be  that  neither  you  nor  I 
will  live  to  see  the  latter.  Great  changes  cannot  be  ex 
pected  in  one  generation.  It  is  enough  for  us  that  the 
field  is  open  for  us  to  work  therein,  and  the  harvest  will 
surely  follow  in  due  time." 

"  It  may  be,"  the  minister  murmured,  doubtfully. 
"We  will  take  a  little  present  comfort  in  hoping  for 
better  things  in  the  future." 

"  Why,    here     comes     Mrs.     Barstow  !"     exclaimed 


'306          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK 

Marian,  as  the  door  was  pushed  ajar  from  without,  and 
that  worthy  lady's  face  presented  itself  in  the  space,  in 
the  attitude  familiar  to  small  children  as  "  peeking.5' 
"  Come  in,  come  in,  Mrs.  Barstow  !  I  am  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  The  mortal  suz  !  I  guess  I'm  glad  'nough  t'  set  my 
gaze  on  some  one  'roun'  my  ole  hum.  Your  face  is 
good  f'r  sore  eyes,  I  tell  you — b't  there  !  I  don't  meant' 
say  as  I've  got  any. 

"  Why  yis,  I  guess  I'll  set  a  spell  an'  rest  me.  It's 
mortal  hard  travellin'  on  shank's  mare  all  the  way  from 
the  court-house.  Shepar'son  brought  me  to  there,  an' 
as  the  hosses  can't  b'  spared,  you  know,  at  this  time  o' 
year,  why  I  up  an'  says  t'  sis,  '  I'll  jest  foot  it  t'  Marun's 
an'  back  by  sundown,  I  guess.' 

"  How 're  you  gettin'  along,  Mr.  Sammy  ?  Not 
much  t'  speak  of,  I  guess  ;  seems  t'  me  your  a-lookin' 
ruther  down  'n  the  mouth.  There  !  you  mus'n't  be 
mad  at  me  f'r  callin'  ye  Mr.  Sammy  ;  JQ  see  I've  got  a 
son  Samuel  up  North,  an'  I  allers  did  call  him  Sammy, 
an  allers  shall,  if  he  is  growed  t'  be  a  gran' ther  himself, 
as  I  hear  latterly  ;  an'  when  I  start  t'  say  your  name  it 
jess  sticks  'n  my  throat,  an'  I  out  with  ;  Sammy  '  'fore  I 
knows  it." 

The  minister  appeared  to  regard  this  apology  as  suffi 
cient,  for  lie  smiled  benignly.  "  I  trust  that  your 
daughter's  family  are  quite  well,  Mrs.  Barstow  ?" 

"  Oh,  'bout  so  so  !  Sis  ain't  been  very  rugged  sence 
Hiram  Judson  was  born,  b't  I'm  there  t'  take  holt  an' 
bear  the  brunt  o'  the  work,  an'  I  find  a-plenty  to  do,  I 
guess.  My  sorrer  !  there's  some  men  folks,  Marnn,  you 
know,  that  wants  a  deal  o'  waitin'  on  an'  pickiri'  up  arter, 
and  the  Shepar'son  fain'ly  are  one  o'  them  sort.  It's 
i  Stellur,  where's  this  ? '  an'  '  why  can't  1  ever  find 


MllS.    SHEPARDSON.  207 

that  ? '  till  I  jess  took  the  reins  in  my  own  hand,  an' 
I  don't  let  iip  on  'em  none — no,  not  one  ioty.  They 
have  t'  do  the'r  own  waitin'  on  ef  they're  weU,  an'  if 
they're  sick  or  ailin'  any  way  an'  c'n't,  why,  I'll  see  t'  it 
they  don't  suffer.  Yis,"  shaking  her  clinched  hand 
energetically  before  Mr.  Samuels,  "  I  c'n  truthfully  say 
at  last  that  I  have  got  the  Shepar'son  fam'ly  jess  where 
it  b'longs." 

"I  am  really  glad  to  hear  it,"  smiled  the  minister. 
"  It  is  a  matter  of  considerable  doubt  with  me  just  where 
I  belong  in  this  world  ;  1  wonder  if  you  could  solve  that 
problem  ?" 

"  I  ruther  guess  so,  if  there  ain't  too  much  'rethmetic 
'bout  it  !  I  thought  you  looked  ruther  down  't  the 
heel  'bout  suthin'.  Y'  don't  quite  fit  inter  ole  Yirginny 
ways,  I  take  it,  Mr.  Sammy.  Well,  I  don't  myself,  an' 
never  shall.  Giv'  me  old  York  State  'fore  any  other  1 
ever  see  !  If  all  Yirginny  was  paved  with  greenbacks  a 
foot  deep,  an'  I  could  rustle  through  an'  pick  up  's  1 
went,  I'd  say  the  same. 

"  No  ;  Malviny  Ba'sto'  (that  was)  is  too  sot  in  her  way 
t'  change  inter  a  reg'lar  down-South  sort  o'  woman. 
But  I've  Parried  t'  keep  my  feelin's  ter  myself  more'n  1 
used  t'."  Here  Marian  could  not  repress  a  smile. 
"  And  I  ruther  guess  your  trouble  is  that  you  don't 
take  holt  'arnest  'nough  t'  change  things  'roun'  as  you 
want  'em  t'  be.  I'm  in  'arnest  in  ev'rything  I  under 
take." 

Then  followed  a  thoughtful  silence. 

66  Mrs.  Barstow,"  presently  observed  Marian,  glancing 
toward  the  thin,  nervous  lips  tremulously  working,  as 
was  their  unceasing  custom,  "one  expression  of  yours 
puzzles  me  greatly.  I  understood  you  to  say  '  that  was,' 
in  a  tone  implying  that  no  such  person  is  now  living. 


208          A    YANKEE    SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

Pray,  is  this  jour  '  wraith  '  we  see  before  us  ?     It  looks 
substantial  enough." 

"  My  sorrer  !  I  should  think  it  was.  I've  grown  the 
heftiest  1  ever  was  in  all  my  life  this  year.  It  seems  as 
if  the  harder  1  put  through  the  stouter  1  git.  Wall,  I 
guess  ye  ain't  none  on  ye  down  this  way  heard  the  news, 
f'r  I  met  several  on  the  way  here,  an'  up  an'  axed  'em  if 
they  had,  and  they  said  '  No.'  I  told  sis  'fore  1  started 
that  I  s'posed  1  should  be  like  a  newspaper,  an'  carry  my 
own  tidings." 

u  What  are  they,  then,  Mrs.  Barstow  ?"  asked  Marian, 
impatiently. 

"  Why,  that  I'm  Mis'  Ba'sto'  no  longer.  I've  up  an' 
married  old  Shepar'son,  an'  done  with  it !" 

A  peal  of  ringing  laughter  from  Marian.  Even  the 
hollow-eyed,  sad-faced  minister  joined  in  it. 

"  I  don't  see  what  call  y'  have  t'  make  fun  o'  sech  a 
very  nateral  proceeding  as  that.  I  can't  see,  Marun,  f  r 
the  life  o'  me,"  began  the  elderly  bride,  looking  nettled 
and  uncomfortable. 

But  Marian  hastily  subdued  her  rebellious  features  be 
fore  a  rupture  of  friendship  occurred.  u  It's  all  right, 
Mrs.  Shepardson  ;  as  you  say,  i  very  natural,'  and  1  am 
willing  to  congratulate  you.  Let  us  shake  hands  on  it." 

"  There  !  my  paw  ain't  scursely  fit  f'r  ye  t'  tech,  f'r 
I  made  soft-soap  last  week,  and  the  lye  e't  my  fingers  till 
they're  rough  as  a  nutmeg-grater." 

"  And  why  was  1  not  asked  to  the  wedding,  1  should 
like  to  know  ?"  continued  Marian,  in  a  'comical,  ag 
grieved  tone.  u  It  looks  like  a  deliberate  slight." 

u  No,  it  ain't,  nuther  ;  an',  Marun,  you  know  better' n 
t'  say  so.  Old  folks  like  mean'  Shepar'son  ain't  no  time 
nor  disposition  f'r  such  tomfoolery  as  a  wedd'n'  party. 
Ye  see,  1  thought  I  could  manage  him  better  if  I  got  the 


MRS.    SHEPAEDSON".  209 

reins  in  my  own  hand,  and  1  was  boun'  t'  manage  the 
whole  of  'em,  or  quit.  'Twas  uphill  work  'nough  the 
first  few  months,  an'  1  threatened  more'n  once  t'  give 
'em  the  go-by  an'  pack  up  my  few  duds  an'  start  for  my 
son  Sammy's  in  old  Onta'.  Sis,  she  looked  ruther 
peaked,  and  I  really  hadn't  the  heart  t'  leave  her,  you 
know,  Marun  ;  b't  1  meant  'em  all  t'  think  so.  An'  so 
it  finally  come  'bout  that  Shepar'son  asked  me  what  I 
thought  'bout  tacklin'  to  an'  makin'  a  double  team  in 
the  farn'ly  ?  An'  1  said  I  was  willin'  if  he  was,  an' 
'twas  arranged  very  sensible  an'  quiet  like,  if  I  do  say  it ; 
an',  Manin,  the  beatingest  thing  'bout  the  whole  affair  is 
that  the  Rev.  Clayton  Armstead  tied  the  knot.  You 
ought  t'  a-seen  that  man's  countenance  when  we  stood 
up  before  him  !  There  was  as  many  changes  went  over 
it  as  over  an  April  day.  I  hadn't  set  eyes  on  the  man  in 
years — not  sence  he  made  his  pastoral  call,  the  only  one 
he  ever  did  make  to  me.  But  the  land  suz  !  I'm  doin' 
allthetalkin'." 

"  Your  conversation  is  exceedingly  piquant,  but  some 
portions  of  reminiscence  are  incomprehensible  to  me," 
observed  Mr.  Samuels,  in  a  languid  tone. 

"  My  sorrer  !  1  shouldn't  wonder.  An'  I  must  ask 
you,  'fore  1  f'rgit  it,  ef  you  commonly  use  such  big 
words  in  your  sermons  ?  If  you  do  1  don't  wonder  that 
you  don't  git  a  strong  holt  on  these  folks  you  come  t' 
preach  to,"  serenely  observed  Mrs.  Malviny. 

"  And  why  did  Stella  name  her  boy  Hiram  ?"  inquired 
the  teacher,  in  a  tone  of  disapproval. 

"  '  Hiram  Judson,'  you  mean,  for  that's  what  it  is. 
Ye  must  give  the  hull  name,  if  you  want  t'  keep  in 
with  Shepar'son,  1  tell  ye.  It  seems  his  first  wife  was 
a  Judson,  and  her  father  was  Hiram,  and  the  Englishers 
are  mortal  hands  t'  holt  on  t'  anything—even  if  nothV 


210          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   1ST   VIRGINIA. 

but  a  name — when  they've  once  got  it.  An'  noth'n'  t'  do 
but  this  baby  must  take  way  back  inter  the  dark  ages, 
as  I  tell  sis,  fr  a  name  like  that — Hiram  Judson 
Shepar'son.  Wall,  1  s'pose  if  he  ever  b'comes  President 
that  name' 11  sound  as  well  as  any  other,  don't  you  ?  The 
Shepar'sons  are  the  sottest  in  their  minds  of  any  tribe  I 
ever  did  see  ;  can't  skursely  beat  'em  out  of  anything 
they  git  a  grip  on — real  English,  I  tell  sis. 

"  The  mortal  suz,  Marun  !  if  you'll  b'lieve  me,  neither 
one  on  'em  had  ever  heard  of  Adoniram  or  Ann  Hazel- 
tine.  1  sort  o'  suggested  that  the  little  chap  be  called 
Adoniram,  and  the  sound  would  be  most  the  same  ;  and 
land  o'  mortal  !  they  didn't  see  no  sense  in  the  sugges 
tion,  and  said  the  name  war' n't  half  as  i  'andsome '  as 
theirs.  So  I  up  an'  held  my  tongue.  Poor  Sim  used  t' 
say  it  was  an  onruly  member,  but  I  don't  know,"  she 
sighed. 

' '  I  suppose  you  do  not  i  mind  the  cows '  nowadays, 
Mrs.  Shepardson.  Come,  my  dinner  is  ready,  and  a  cup 
of  tea  will  refresh  you." 

"So  it  will.  I  set  a  great  deal  on  a  cup  o'  tea,  an'  I 
used  t'  think  I  was  as  good  a  judge  o'  that  article  as  you 
could  pick  out  in  Onta'.  But  Land  o'  Goshen  !  sence 
I've  come  t'  the  happy  land,  as  I  call  it,  I  ain't  lied  no 
sech  tea  as  I  used  t'.  It's  been  hard  pickin's  most  the 
time.  Goin',  Mr.  Sammy  ?  Hope  you'll  do  well  here, 
and  you  will  ef  you're  in  'arnest  'nough  and  have 
strength  t'  hold  out. 

"Till  he's  as  old  as  Methuselah,  I  ought  t'  have 
added,"  as  the  door  closed  after  him.  "  Yis,  Marun,  I 
flax  'roun'  same  's  ever.  I  tell  sis  I  do  ev'rything  there 
is  t'  do,  and  more,  too.  We're  gittin'  some  fine  stock  on 
the  place,  and  that  brings  up  a  run-down  farm  'mazin' 
fast.  This  red  clay  land,  too,  is  strong  land,  an'  holds 


MRS.    SHEPARDSON.  211 

what  ye  put  inter  it.  I  ruther  guess  ef  we  have  our 
health  and  strength  that  we  sh'll  be  able  t'  make  a 
livinV 

"  I  rejoice  that  you  are  so  comfortably  settled,"  said 
Marian,  cheerily.  "  This  ham  I  cured  myself ;  try 
some. " 

' (  An'  it's  sweet  as  a  rose,"  declared  Mrs.  Malviny. 
"  There,  now,  is  where  Shepar'son  fails.  He  don't 
b'gin  t'  know  nigh  as  much  'bout  curin'  hog  meat  as  I 
do,  if  1  do  say  it.  He  made  a  botch  of  it  last  picklin' 
time.  But  land  !  ye  c'n't  touch  him  with  a  ten-foot 
pole  when  ye  jess  b'gin  t'  hint  anythin'  of  the  sort." 

"  1  hope  he  is  not  ill-tempered,"  said  the  teacher,  a 
little  fearfully. 

"  Noth'n'  t'  speak  of.  I  ain't  'fraid  o'  him  nor  no 
mortal  man,"  and  the  fists  emphasized  the  assertion  so 
vigorously  that  over  went  Marian's  pretty  teapot,  an 
amber  stream  flowing  out  on  the  carpet,  greatly  to 
Malvina's  chagrin. 

"  It  does  not  matter.  And  we  have  had  our  second 
cups,  you  know,  so  the  loss  is  not  great,"  observed  the 
teacher,  reassuringly. 

"  B't  it  is,  Marun.  I  never  waste  a  drop  o'  tea,  you 
remember.  I've  gone  as  high  as  six  cups,  b't  that  ain't 
my  daily  allowance.  An'  I  sometimes  chaw  the  grounds 
besides." 

"  I'll  make  some  more.  You  shall  have  six  cups  if 
you  wish,"  and  the  kettle  was  presently  steaming, 
"  We  will  have  a  real  symposium,"  the  teacher  said, 
hesitating  for  a  word,  and  smiling. 


212          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

XXIX. 

"  A    CUP    O5    TEA." 

"  THE  mortal  suz  !  I  don't  know  what  that  is,  b't  I  do 
know  that  we  are  havin'  a  very  comfort' We  set  down. 
You  can  make  bread  most  as  good  as  mine,  Marun." 

"  Not  quite  so  good.  I  think  your  bread  as  light  and 
sweet  and  spongy  as  any  1  ever  ate."  Marian  laughed 

slyly. 

"  That's  what  Sim  allers  said."  A  gratified  flush  rose 
to  the  usually  pallid  cheeks  at  the  unexpected  praise. 
"  Says  he,  '  Malviny  fails  on  some  things,  b't  there's  one 
thing  you  c'n't  beat  her  on,  an'  that's  bread  ;'  poor  Sim 
was  dreadful  fond  o'  good  bread  !"  she  sighed. 

"There  are  many  things  '  Malviny '  succeeds  in," 
quietly  added  the  teacher.  "  I  often  recall  your  way  of 
frying  chicken." 

"  But  that"  quickly  interposed  the  guest,  "  1 1'arned 
frum  the  colored  women  'roun'  me.  They  certain  sure 
do  beat  us  Yankees  at  that.  They  c'n  set  a  rousin' 
table,  an'  do  it  all  with  only  a  skillet  an'  a  bake-kettle  in 
the  hot  ashes. ' ' 

"  But  they  don't  have  occasion  to  display  their  talents 
nowadays,"  remarked  the  teacher,  thoughtfully. 

"  Land,  no  !  the  big  dinners  sech  as  the  white  folks 
used  t'  give  are  done  with.  Fact  is,  Marun,  the  white 
folks  have  t'  grub'  roun'  t'  git  suthin'  t'  eat  as  well  as 
the  poor  colored  people.  I  mus'  say  I'm  ruther  pleased 
t'  see  'em  scratchin'  roun'  iindin'  some  employment. 
Sim  used  t'  stick  t'  it  that  all  the  people  of  this  State  . 
needed  to  make  it  a  paradise  on  earth  was  steady  payin' 


"A    CUP   0'   TEA."  213 

labor,  f 'r  black  an'  white  alike.  That  wus  when  we  fus' 
moved  down,  an'  it's  come  'bout  a  great  deal  sooner  than 
I  thought  it  would." 

Marian  said  nothing,  but  regarded  her  teacup  medita 
tively. 

"  There's  Lucy  Darnell,  now.  How  she  used  t'  turn 
up  her  nose  at  even  teaching  !  '  High  an'  mighty  was 
my  lady  fine,'  as  the  old  song  goes.  She  wouldn't  waste 
her  accomplishments  on  even  white  children.  Ah, 
Marun,  they've  been  runnin'  down-hill  awful  latterly, 
all  t'  seed.  Aunt  Rose  told  me  herself  one  day  I  seed 
her  over  to  the  court-house  t'  do  some  tradin'  that  '  dem 
chilluns  hab  got  ter  stir  'roun'  mighty  lively  soon,  or  else 
dey  wouldn't  git  t'gedder  'no ugh  property  ter  bury  'em 
decent  when  dere  time's  done  come.'  " 

"  It  seems  foolish  to  worry  over  the  manner  of  our 
burial,"  remarked  Marian. 

"  I  don't  know  'bout  that  either.  I've  often  thought 
of  old  Zephania  Bunker,  who  lied  his  coffin  made  when 
he  first  set  up  housekeeping  T'  be  sorter  handy,  y' 
know,  in  case  of  an  accident.  He  used  t'  keep  beans  in 
it.  An'  it  didn't  hurt  the  beans  none,  as  I  see.  An' 
when  you  got  used  t'  seein'  it,  'twarn't  noth'n'.  But 
the  fus'  time  I  seed  it  hauled  out  an'  the  beans  (most 
used  up  they  was  then)  rattlin'  roun'  in  it,  it  give  me  a 
start.  <  The  mortal  suz  !  '  I  yelled  out,  '  what's  that  ? ' 
'  Why,  cranberries,  these  be,'  says  he  ;  '  I  hain't  got  no 
kidneys  now.'  He  thought  1  was  axin'  'bout  the  kind 
6'  his  garden  truck,  ye  see." 

Marian  gave  a  gleeful  chuckle.  Mrs.  Shepardson 
paused  a  moment  to  survey  her. 

(f'  There  !  now  you  look  jest  as  y'  did  a  dozen  or  so 
years  ago,  when  you  laugh  like  that.  You've  changed 
some.  Staider  than  you  used  t'  be  when  you  boarded 


214          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

with  me.     B'  t  you  hold  y'r  own  well,  Marun.     Yon  hold 
y'r  own  toler'ble  well,  I  tell  ye. 

"  Ctir'us  !  Did  1  tell  ye  that  Lucy  Darnell  had  fin'lly 
come  to  it,  an'  was  teaching  school  over  in  Goochland  ? 
An'  Rose  said  she  hed  over  forty  scholars,  an'  1  ruther 
guess  has  t'  flax  'roun'  toler'ble  spry.  It'll  be  the 
makin'  of  her  !  If  that  can  be  said  'bout  anybody  that 
wus  finished  off  an'  turned  thirty  'fore  the  new  era 
b'gun.  I  guess  she  don't  find  time  t'  apply  poultices—" 

"  Except  to  the  young  ideas,"  laughed  Marian. 
"  We  teachers  are  expected  to  do  that,  you  know."  •'  - 

"  An'  Percy  has  gone  t'  work  on  the  farm,  they  tell 
me,  jess  as  handy  as  c'n  be.  I  never  s' posed  he'd  come 
t'  that.  B't  I  say  it  ag'in,  it'll  be  the  makin'  of  him. 
I  used  t'  hear  it  hinted  'mong  the  colored  folks,  Marun, 
that  he  would  like  amazin'ly  t'  git  better  acquainted  with 
you.  It's  cur'us  how  sech  things  do  fly  abroad  !" 

"  There  are  lively  imaginations—"  began  Marian. 

"  There  now  !  You  needn't  go  t'  smooth  over  things. 
Ye  can't  alter  noth'n'  ;  an'  I  don't  mean  t'  meddle. 
Nobody  c'n  ever  say  that  of  Malviny  Ba'sto'  (that  wus), 
that  she  hed  a  meddlesome  mind.  B't  land  !  ye  needn't 
be  '11  the  least  'fraid  t'  c'nfide  in  me  ;  it  won't  go  no 
further.  My  sorrer  !  1  should  &-li~ked  t'  c'n  fide  in  some 
one  when  Shepar'son  fus'  axed  me  'bout  tacklin'  to,  f'r 
1  war' n't  quite  sot  in  my  own  mind  f'r  quite  a  spell 
whether  I  really  wanted  t'  change  my  name  or  not. 
Change  my  name  an'  not  my  natur',  you  know  the  old 
saying  is,  Marun." 

"  You  might  have  asked  my  opinion,  I  think,"  said 
Marian,  reproachfully.  "It  wouldn't  'have  gone  any 
farther,'  1  am  sure." 

Mrs.  Malviny  laughed.  "  Sim  used  t'  say  that  a 
secret  once  told  might  as  well  be  spread  all  over  the  town 


215 

at  once.  1  think  Sim  gin'rally  hit  the  nail  on  the  head 
square.  Not  b't  that  I'm  certain  sure  in  my  own  mind 
that  women  c'n  keep  things  t'  themselves,  if  need  be,  as 
well  or  better 'n  men.  They're  a  much-abused  class  o' 
critt  ill's  gin'rally,  are  women.  I've  allers  stuck  t'  't, 
it's  'cause  they're  so  meek  an'  patient.  It  stan's  t'  rea 
son  them  that's  patient  an'  willin'  will  be  sure  t'  git  all 
the  rubs.  Mabbe  it'll  b'  made  up  t'  'em  hereafter  ;  I 
wonder  if  't  will  ? 

"  There  now  !  I'll  have  one  more  cup  o'  young  hyson 
(it  does  put  the  sperit  inter  me  as  noth'n'  else  does),  an' 
another  pinch  o'  sugar  cake,  an'  then  I  mus'  b'  gittin' 
hum  'fore  night  sets  in.  It's  quite  a  stretch  over  there. 
I've  lied  a  likely  time  as  ever  I  hed.  I  s'pose  this  might 
b'  called  my  bridal  tower,  f  r  it's  the  only  one  I've  hed 
or  am  likely  t'  hav'  's  fur  'si  c'n  see  ;  the  fac'  is,  it's 
the  fus'  time  I've  been  out  o'  sight  o'  the  chimney  sence 
I  bid  adoo  t'  Malviny  Ba'sto'  f  rever. 

"  I  c'n  allers  tell  by  pinchin'  it,  Marun,  if  cake  is 
good  ;  can't  you  ?  There's  a  certain  spongy  feel  t'  it  if 
it's  all  right  one  can't  mistake.  The  mortal  suz  !  we've 
been  s'  short  o'  eggs  over  t'  our  house,  latterly,  that 
I've  got  inter  the  way  o'  makin'  stirred  cake  without. 
The  shifts  I've  been  put  to  t'  make  good  things  out  o' 
noth'n'  would  make  you  open  your  eyes,  I  tell  you  ! 
What  d'ye  think  o'  beatin'  up  slippery  elem  tea  till  it's 
light  an'  frothy,  an' usin'  that  fr  eggs?  I've  done  it 
many  a  time.  There  ain't  noth'n'  skursely  that  grows 
b't  is  good  f'r  suthin',  if  ye  c'n  set  your  wits  t'  work  t1 
find  it  out  ;  an'  you'll  find  that  t'  be  true,  Marun,  if  you 
live  's  long  as  I  have. 

"  How  I  do  rim  on  !  Must  be  the  tea  set  me  a-goin', 
f'r  I  ain't  very  talkative  nat'rally,  you  remember  ?" 

Marian  looked  up  bewildered,  as  if  her  thoughts  had 


216          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

been  elsewhere  than  with  her  guest — which  was  indeed 
the  truth. 

Mrs.  Malviny  noticed  it,  and  while  her  tongue  wan 
dered  over  various  unimportant  themes  her  shrewd  mind 
was  speculating,  while  her  eyes  were  fixed  dimly  on 
Marian's  face. 

"  There,  now  !  you're  thinking  'bout  what  I  told  you 
a  spell  back  about  those  Southern  folks,  the  Darnells.  I 
c'n  see  it  in  yer  face.  Sim  allers  used  t'  say  I  was  a 
good  guesser  ;  and  I  told  him  the  reason  was  I  was  born 
in  guess-land.  They  don't  guess  none  down  here — allers 
a-reck'nin'  they  be  !  B't  still  I've  managed  t'  keep  my 
talent  pretty  bright." 

Marian  tried  to  smile—"  I  must  have  an  expressive 
countenance,  Mrs.  Barstow — ' ' 

Malviny  held  up  her  hand.  "  There,  now,  don't 
'pologize  !  One  name  suits  me  as  well  as  t'  other,  an'  I 
don't  mean  t'  carry  the  idee  that  my  second  is  any  im 
provement  on  my  first. 

"  Yis,  Marun,  you  hev*  got  a  ruther  tellin'  face. 
Land  suz  !  I've  seen  faces  s'  sly  an'  close  the  one  who 
owned  'em  might  a'  been  planning  a  murder  an'  not  a  hint 
of  it  would  the  face  let  on.  But  that  ain't  your  sort. 
It's  as  open  as  the  day." 

"  Really,  I  shall  wear  a  veil  in  future,"  laughed  the 
teacher.  "  I  am  fond  of  reserve." 

"  Now,  if  you  mean  that  as  a  hint  f'r  me,"  inter 
rupted  Mrs.  Malviny,  with  the  utmost  good-humor, 
"  I'm  free  t'  tell  ye  that  I  don't  care  a  grain  f'r  yer 
hints.  An'  I've  got  a  big  piece  o'  news  t'  tell  you  that 
I  heerd  as  I  come  on  over  here.  I've  been  a-keepin'  it 
f'r  the  last,  f'r  I  didn't  mean  it  should  spile  my  visit,  I 
tell  ye,  when  I've  been  a-lottin'  on  seein'  you  all  this 
mortal  winter  past.  It's  been  a  tough  job  t'  hold 


"A    CUP   0'    TEA."  217 

in,  I  tell  you,  f'r  I  like  t'  out  with  it  two  or  three 
times." 

Marian  rose  to  her  feet  in  astonishment  and  stared  at 
her  guest.  "  What  news  have  you  that  will  affect  me,  I 
beg  to  know  ?"  She  brought  forth  the  words  slowly. 

"  I  don  t  know  as  any.  You're  c'nsid'able  hard  t'  be 
affected,  Marun.  B't  it  affected  me  tumble.  I've  a 
very  feelin'  heart,  y'  Snow,  Marun.  An'  t'  hev'  sech 
awful  doin's  right  among  us,  as  it  ware,  an'  nobody  t' 
help  or  hender,  jest  'bout  c'mpletely  upsot  me.  That's 
all." 

"  What  is  '  all'  ?  You  see  you  haven't  told  me  any 
thing  yet,"  said  Marian,  weary  of  gossiping  visitors,  and 
thinking  longingly  of  her  delayed  correspondence. 

"  Why,  jest  that  I  heerd  'em  talking  at  the  court- 
liouse  as  I  come  through  that  Percy  Darnell  an'  that 
pesky  nigger,  Taller  Joe,  had  fit,  an'  fit,  as  desp'rate 
as  dogs,  an'  that  finally,  when  folks  come  on  the  scene  the 
nigger  had  run  away,  an'  the  white  man  lay  dead,  they 
thought  at  fust  ;  Vt  they  managed  t'  pick  him  up,  an' 
finally  they  brought  him  to;  b't  they  do  say  he  can't 
live — he  's  in  a  tumble* plight ;  an'  I  hope  now  they'll 
pass  a  law  that  any  man,  whether  black  or  white,  who  car 
ries  weapons  of  any  sort  shall  go  t'  States  prison  f  r 
twenty  years.  Pd  soon  break  up  this  business,  I  tell 
you.  If  folks  git  blazin'  mad  an'  hain't  got  no  arms, 
why  they' 11  be  apt  t'  fisticuff  a  spell,  and  the  one  that  got 
licked  'd  hev'  t'  grin  an'  bear  it.  B't  when  pistils  hap- 
p'n  t'  be  in  their  pockets,  they're  so  mighty  handy 
they're  sure  t'  pop  out." 

"I  thought  their  old  enmity  had  all  died  out,"  said 
Marian. 

"  Land,  no  !  Ev'ry  now  an'  then  they're  up  an'  at  it 
like  cats  an'  dogs.  They  hate  each  other  like  p'ison,  it 


218          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   Itf   VIRGINIA. 

seems.  Mus'  be  'twas  born  into  'em  an'  they  can't  help 
it.  I  dunno  when  I've  lieerd  anything  so  awful  as  this. 
They  say  old  Kose  is  broke  up  'ntirely,  she  feels  s'  bad  ; 
b't  she  ain't  away  from  Percy's  bed  skiirse  a  minit.  If 
good  nursin'll  save  him  she'll  pull  him  through,  f  r  she 
sets  b'  him  same  's  if  he  was  her  own  flesh  an'  blood." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  will  live,  I  think,"  said  Marian,  in  a 
dreamy,  absent  tone. 

"/don't  know  'bout  that,  Marun."  Mrs.  Malviny 
spoke  in  a  curt,  half-offended  tone.  "  Nor  you  hain't  no 
right  t'  up  an'  think  how  it'll  turn,  either.  It'll  be 
'bout  that  as  the  Lord  wills.  Some  He  saves  arter  they 
come  so  close  t'  death's  door  that  they  c'n  a'most  peek 
in  ;  an'  some  He  takes  away.  We  ain't  none  on  us 
plumb  sure  o'  nuth'n'  in  this  world,  Marun  ;  that  is  the 
livin'  truth." 

"  I  do  not  set  my  opinion  up  as  worth  anything," 
wearily  answered  the  teacher. 

u  I  should  ruther  think  not.  Not  wuth  a  cent.  An' 
now  I  hev'  emptied  my  news-bag  clean,  an'  I  inns'  peg 
right  along  sharp  f 'r  old  Shepar 'son's.  Good-day  t'  you, 
Marun,  till  you  come  t'  se  me  an'  Sis,  or  I  come  t'  return 
my  own  visit.  It  rests  with  you  which  way  'tis  !" 


XXX. 


66  OOAY  !  Miss  Maryon  !     Ooay  !" 
Marian  threw  up  her  window  and  leaned  out.     The 
sun  was  rising  above  the  tall  oaks  to  eastward  ;    birds 


SECOND   VISIT   TO    ' '  STETTEN    WOOD."       219 

twittered,  hopping  on  the  ground  below  ;  a  soft  southern 
breeze  swept  faintly  her  cheek  :  a  negress,  tall  and  of 
stately  presence,  with  a  plaid  kerchief  wound  around  her 
head,  stood  looking  up  impatiently. 

"  Howdy,  Miss  Maryon  !  howdy  !  disarn  a  fine  spring 
mornin',  suali." 

"  Why,  it  is  Mammy  Rose  !"  cried  Marian,  in  surprise. 
"  Wait  an  instant.  I'll  be  down  and  let  you  in." 

"  So  it  be,  honey  !  sorry  t'  rouse  yer  so,  chile,  frum 
yer  beauty  nap,"  with  a  courteous  obeisance.  "  An' 
how  pow'ful  soun'  yer  does  sleep,  Miss  Maryon,  honey  ! 
I  was  'feard  I'd  have  t'  step  over  t'  Judah's  ag'in  an' 
wait  still  longer. ' ' 

"  Have  you  called  me  once  before  this  morning  ?"  in 
quired  Marian. 

"  Twice  befo',  honey.  No,  I  can't  stop  long  'nough 
ter  go  inter  de  house,"  seating  herself  on  the  doorstep. 
u  I'se  'mazin'  impatient  t'  git  back  soon.  I  started  t' 
sen'  one  o'  de  chilluns  ober  'stid  o'  comin'  myself  ;  den  I 
say,  i  Miss  Maryon  ain't  gwiiie  t'  pay  no  heed  t'  what 
dem  chilluns  say — s'pose  it  some  dere  fool-talk  mos' 
likely,  an'  she'll  lissen  t'  ole  Rose,  suah  'nough  ;  she 
done  know  dat  what  ole  mammy  tells  her  be  gospil 
trufe.'  " 

u  I  heard  last  evening  about  your  trouble,"  said  the 
teacher,  quickly.  "  I  was  going  to  send  one  of  Uncle 
Judah's  girls  over  to  ask  if  you  did  not  need  something. 
I  have  rolls  of  soft  old  linen  for  bandages  and  lint, 
among  other  stores  sent  to  me  from  the  I^orth  ;  you  can 
have  anything  you  wish.  1  will  insist  upon  your  coming 
to  me  for  whatever  will  be  useful  to  you." 

"  O  Miss  Maryon,  honey,  dat  I  will  gladly.  Don't  I 
know  dat  yer  cloo'  am  allers  open  an'  yer  han'  allers 
ready  ter  scatter  'broad  good  gif's  ?  Ole  Rose  hain't 


220          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

lived  'longside  o'  yer  alldese  years  ter  go  an'  be  'fraid  o' 
ye  when  de  day  ob  trial  comes.  B't  dern  t'ings  I'll  ask 
f'r  bam-by,  suali  'nough.  'Tain't  no  sech  stores  I've 
been  hangin'  roun'  t'  git  courage  t'  tote  away  from  yere. 
O  Miss  Maryon,  it's  sore  trouble  lies  come  'pon  me," 
lifting  streaming  eyes  to  tlie  doorway,  where  the  gentle 
teacher  stood  with  a  sorrowful  face  regarding  her. 

"  De  las'  few  years  hab  been  might'  burd'nsome  t'  ole 
Rose,"  she  went  on,  wiping  her  eyes.  "  I  done  tole 
nobody  befo',  'case  'twa'n't  seemly  ter  stir  up  all  de 
settlin's  ;  maybe,  I  kep'  tellin'  myself,  dat  de  water 
boun'  ter  cl'ar  itself  at  las'  ef  nobody  interfere  ter 
muddy  it.  B't  it  growed  a  heap  worse.  An'  de 
poverty  ob  de  house  growed  worse  too.  O  Miss 
Maryon,  'twere  a  bitter  pill  t'  swaller  down  ter  see 
my  chilluns  dat  I  hab  raised  go  ter  hard  work  in  de  fiel'  ! 
Mas'r  Percy  labor  till  de  sweat  roll  down  his  face  like  he 
wur  cryin'  !  It  wur  sore  f'r  me  t'  see  it.  An'  I  prom 
ised  his  ma  on  her  dyin'  bed  as  I  would  allers  stan'  by 
her  chillun." 

''  You  have  kept  your  promise,"  said  Marian,  softly. 
"  And  labor  won't  hurt  Percy  any  more  than  Joe.  You 
know  that  I  believe  in  labor  for  every  one." 

"  I  know.  An'  I  t'inks  myself  dat  Miss  Lucy  is  a 
heap  nicer  t'  lib  wid  now  she  hab  somet'in'  t'  do. 
Teachin'  ain't  hard  work,  like  ploughin'  an'  hoein'. 
'Twa'n't  Miss  Lucy  I  wus  frettin'  fur  ;  she  kin  stan'  a 
heap  ob  hard  work  an'  not  crash  down  nor  noth'n'." 

Marian  knew  that  Percy  had  always  been  Aunt  Rose's 
favorite  ;  she  understood  how  her  loving  care  had 
brooded  over  his  fortunes  from  infancy,  warding  off  real 
or  imaginary  dangers.  Gladly  would  she  have  toiled  for 
him  in  the  house  and  in  the  field  to  have  shielded  him 
from  the  degradation  (in  her  eyes)  of  his  hard  toil.  But 


MARION'S  SECOND  YISIT  TO  "  STETTEN  WOOD."     221 

Percy  had  awakened,  at  last,  to  a  sense  of  his  individu 
ality — to  the  necessity  of  earning  his  daily  bread,  if  he 
had  any. 

a  If  I  cannot  hold  office,"  he  said,  "  and  earn  my 
living,  1  can  at  least  till  the  land  and  earn  it,  and  I 
will  /"  And  he  sent  mammy  back  to  the  house  as  he  said 
it,  wresting  the  hoe  from  her  shrivelled  hands.  ( '  You're 
too  old  to  work  in  the  field,  mammy. ' ' 

u  I  'clar',  1'se  proud  o'  my  chile  when  he  said  dat.  I 
knowed  dat  he  wur  allers  kind  ter  me,  an'  never  so 
orderin'  as  de  res'  ob  de  fam'ly.  De  only  fault  he  had, 
Miss  Maryon,  were  his  easy  way,  t'  jest  not  trouble 
'bout  the  way  de  ole  place  were  goin'.  Dar's  mor'gages 
yere  an'  mor'gages  dere,  Miss  Maryon,  on  eb'ryt'ing. 
I  'spec's  dey  neber  'llcl'ar  off  either,  now."  The  faith 
ful  creature  broke  down  in  sobs,  and  covered  her  head 
with  her  apron,  that  she  might  indulge  her  grief  decently. 

"  Don't,  Mammy  Rose,  pray  don't!"  cried  Marian. 
"  "When  Percy  gets  well  all  will  come  right  again.  And 
poverty  isn't  the  worst  thing  to  bear." 

"That  it  isn't.  I'm  not  frettin'  f'r  that."  She 
raised  her  head  wearily.  "  It's  de  strife  an'  de  hatred 
an'  de  constant  fear  ob  de  end  ob  it  all  dat  hab  worn  my 
sperit  sore,"  sighed  Rose.  "  An'  now  '  de  end'  hab 
come  ;  de  b'ginnin'  ob  de  end,"  she  wailed.  "  Oh,  yis, 
I  knows  what  de  doctors  keep  a-sayin'  t'  sorter  keep  up 
Mas'r  Percy's  courage  ;  b't  ole  Rose  hab  seen  'em 
shakin'  dar  hades  when  dey  t'ink  no  one  wus  look'n'. 
An'  dey  keeps  a-bringin'  more  t'  look  at  'im,  till  six  ob 
'em  hab  been  ter  Stetten  a'ready.  I  hab  sense  'nough,  I 
hope,  honey,  to  put  all  dis  t'gedder,  an'  dat  say  de  end 
hab  come. 

"  We  sent  f'r  Miss  Lucy  ter  come  home  yistiddy.  1 
dunno  b't  I'm  sorry  we  did,  f'r  she  kin  do  noth'n'  b't 


222          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

cry  when  she  comes  inter  whar  her  brudder  lies,  an'  it 
worries  him  t'  see  it.  i  Send  her  out,  mammy,  send  her 
out,'  he  whispered.  B't  ob  coorse  I  can't  do  dat.  '  I 
only  want  you,  mammy,'  he  say,  i  an'  one  other  S 

"  (  De  po'  lam'  am  out  ob  his  hade,'  1  whisper  t'  his 
sist'r  ;  '  bes'  leab  him  t'  rne  t'  nurse,  an'  you  see  ter 
de  housekeeping' 

"  i  Don't  let  her  in,  mammy.  I  only  want  you  with 
me,  and  one  other. '  So  he  goes  on  all  de  night.  Jest 
afore  mornfn'  broke  I  says  ter  him,  i  Mas'r  Percy,  dear, 
tell  mammy  what  ter  do,  an'  she'll  do  it,  suah.' 

"  i  I  want  her  ter  come  jest  once,  mammy.  I  mean 
the  teacher.  Do  yer  t'ink  she  will  f  An'  keep  Lucy 
out,  please.' 

"  '  I  will  send  and  see  ef  she  will,'  I  say,  an'  he  sighed, 
'  She  won't  come,  I  know  !  I  don't  t'ink  she  will 
come. ' 

"  i  m  bring  her,'  I  said  ter  him,  jest  as  Miss  Lucy 
walked  in.  She'd  heerd  me,  1  knowed.  B't  'fore  I 
could  say  a  word  he  rouse  up  like  an'  call  '  Lucy,  come 
yere  ! '  An'  she  wus  cryin',  as  usual. 

"  i  Bottle  up  yer  tears,  sist'r,  an'  wait  till  I  need  'em,' 
he  say  in  hisole  way  quite.  An'  den  he  went  on  t'  open 
his  heart  t'  his  sist'r.  Bress  de  chile  !  he'd  tole  his  ole 
mammy  'bout  it  years  afore.  Yis,  honey,  he  allers  did 
come  ter  Hose  f'r  comfort.  An'  I  done  hope  he  allers 
got  de  bes'  she  had  ter  offer. 

"  Miss  Mary  on,  honey,  yer  don't  b'gin  ter  know  how 
he's  sot  b'  ye  all  dese  long  years.  An'  1  knowed  all  de 
time  de  reason  f'r  his  tryin'  'long  back  t'  work  so  wus 
de  hope  o'  gainin'  ye  'roun'  finally.  An'  now  he  poured 
out  all  his  love  t'  his  sist'r,  an'  I  'wur  'most  'fraid  t'  look 
at  her  f'r  fear  how  she'd  take  it.  A  'mazin'  proud  an' 
jealous  fam'ly  the  Darnells  be,  an',  ye  see,  he  neber 


MARION'S  SECOND  VISIT  TO  "STETTEN  WOOD."     223 

'peared  t'  set  by  Miss  Lucy  's  much  's  she  did  by  him, 
an'  I  were  mos'  certain,  dere  would  be  a  scene.  Bress 
you,  Miss  Maryon,  noth'n'  ob  de  sort !  I  wur  dat  proud 
o'  Miss  Lucy  at  de  way  she  done  behave,  dat  I  clasped 
my  ole  arms  'roun'  her  an'  cried  out  :  i  Now  you're  do 
daughter  ob  your  ma,  suah  !  Dat's  jest  as  she  would  say 
herself  ef  she  were  livinV  An'  den  we  all  sobbed 
t'gedder,  I  c'nfess." 

Marian  dropped  to  a  seat  beside  her.  "  Aunty,  what 
did  Lucy  say  ?" 

"  Why,  dat  she'd  be  happy  an'  proud  t'  greet  yer  as  a 
guest  at  Stetten  Woods.  She  had  admired  you  gre'tly 
f 'r  years.  An'  I  knowed  she  wur  speakin'  de  trufe  ; 
dar  wus  dat  cl'ar,  honest  look  in  de  eye  same  's  all  do 
Darnells  hab  when  dey  tells  de  trufe.  An'  now  will  yer 
go  wid  me,  Miss  Maryon  ?  Say  yer  won' t  sen'  ole  Rose 
back  alone  ?" 

Marian  flushed  a  little,  but  she  rose  to  her  feet  with 
prompt  decision.  "  Just  come  in  until  1  have  a  cup  of 
coffee,  and  I  will  go  with  you.  And  you  feared  to  ask 
me  to  make  a  friendly  visit  ?  I  am  ashamed  of  you, 
Aunt  Rose.  But  we  are  not  to  go  empty-handed  to 
your  patient.  While  I  get  '  a  snack,'  as  you  call  it  here, 
you  are  to  select  from  that  closet  and  pack  in  that  basket 
whatever  you  choose.  There  are  jellies  and  wine  and 
cordials  of  various  sorts,  surgical  appliances,  bed  linen, 
and  clothing.  I  will  leave  you,  and  make  all  the  haste 
possible." 

"  Do,  honey,  fr  1  long  t'  be  back  ag'in.  Mas'r  Percy 
is  patienter  wid  me  dan  wid  his  sist'r — a  heap  gentler." 

Mammy  Rose  noticed,  as  they  went  down  the  steps 
and  she  poised  her  basket  on  her  head,  that  the  teacher 
reached  for  a  spray  of  honeysuckle,  just  budding,  and 
arranged  the  glossy  leaves  carefully,  almost  tenderly,  as 


224          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHEll   IN   VIRGINIA. 

she  walked  along  the  little  path.  "  1  wonder,"  she 
mused  silently,  "  if  she  knows  dat  flower  am  Percy1  s 
fav'rite  ob  all  dat  blossoms  on  de  yarth  ?  'Spec's  1  bes' 
not  tell  her.  Dar's  danger  ob  sayin'  too  much,  I  has 
sense  ter  know.  De  signs  am  a-workin'  right  at  present, 
1  'serves." 

"  And  where  is  Joe  ?"  questioned  Marian,  suddenly 
breaking  in  upon  the  aged  negress's  day-dreaming. 

"I  dunno  whar,  Miss  Maryon.  Outen  de  State,  I 
done  certain.  Joe  ain't  no  fool  ter  bide  roun'  whar 
he'll  b'  cotched  at  short  notice.  1  neber  see  him  no  mo' 
arter  dis  las'  quar'l  wid  Mas'r  Percy  !  No  ;  I  dunno 
whar  he  be,  an'  I  don'  care  no  gre't  eider.  De  trouble 
wid  Joe  allers  wus  dat  he  neber  would  lissen  t'  his 
mammy's  advice,  neber  !  Pse  done  glad  ef  he's  cl'ar'd 
outen  dis  yer  neighborhood  f'r  good." 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  allowance  to  be  made  for 
Joe,"  observed  Marian,  quietly.  "  He  is  a  man  of 
marked  ability.  He  cannot  look  upon  the  family  at 
Stetten  Woods  as  really  his  superior  in  any  respect  save 
that  of  race.  I  believe  he  does  feel  that  to  be  a  white 
man  would  be  a  greater  privilege  than  to  be  as  he  is.  He 
has  often  expressed  himself  to  me  on  this  particular 
point.  (  So  nearly  white,  Miss  Marian,'  he  once  said, 
with  a  bitterness  of  tone  I  shall  never  forget,  '  I  would 
be  willing  to  be  skinned,  provided  all  trace  of  the  detest 
able  color  could  be  eradicated.  In  intellect,  and  morals, 
and  culture,  and  affinities  of  all  kinds  1  belong  to  the 
white  race,  yet  they  turn  a  cold  shoulder  on  me  because 
a  few  drops  of  color  run  in  my  veins.  O  God  !  why  was 
1  not  born  a  white  man  ? '  I  can  never  forget  that  cry. 
It  thrilled  through  me  then  with  such  a  keen  pain  that  I 
could  not  answer  it  with  any  words  but  those  of  the 
merest  commonplace." 


MARION'S  SECOND  VISIT  TO  "STETTEN  WOOD."    225 

Mammy  Rose  put  her  burden  down  and  straightened 
her  majestic  figure  with  indignation.  "  He's  wuss'n  de 
po'  white  trash  !  him  talk  'bout  havin'  quality  feelin's  ! 
he  don't  Vgin  t'  know  'bout  one  on  'm  !  Eb'ry  livin' 
creetur  ob  any  '  count  at  all  will  certain  suah  stari'  by  de 
modder  dat  raised  '  em  f  rum  a  suckin'  baby  ter  manhood. 
He  mighty  will'n'  f  r  ter  cas'  his  ole  mammy  off  'n  wish 
he  hedn'  t  a  drap  o'  her  blood  '  n  his  body  !' ' 

She  picked  up  her  basket  and  strode  on  in  dignified 
silence.  Suddenly  she  broke  out  in  a  fierce,  sibilant 
whisper  :  "  Does  he  t'ink  it'll  make  a  white  man  ob  him 
ef  he  kills  his  brudder  T ' 

Marian  looked  up,  startled. 

"  Yis,  chile,  dey  hed  de  same  f  adder,  as  God  is  my 
jedge.  What  is  dat  yer  Bible  passage  de  preachers  use 
f  rtext  ?  '  De  sins  ob  de  f  adders  shall  be  visited  upon  de 
chillun  unto  de  third  gen' ration,'  '  she  muttered. 
"  An'  it's  so." 

How  well  Marian  remembered  the  stately  avenues,  the 
spacious  lawn,  the  massive-looking  house,  with  its  broad 
verandas  and  trellised  porches  !  Signs  of  decay  were 
everywhere  apparent,  only  the  feeblest  attempts  having 
been  made  to  ward  off  time  and  the  weather's  inevitable 
ravages.  Birds  were  nesting  in  the  grand  old  trees,  and 
two  hounds  sneaked  into  the  sunlight  from  some  covert, 
barking  furiously. 

As  Marian  advanced  up  the  broad  walk,  now  weed- 
grown  and  irregular  of  outline,  the  dogs  still  leaping  and 
fawning  upon  Rose  who  loitered  behind,  suddenly  the 
door  opening  upon  the  porch  flew  open,  and  a  quiet 
figure  came  out,  standing  as  if  waiting  to  welcome  the 
stranger. 

"I  am  Lucy,"  she  said,  with  filling  eyes,  as  she  held 
out  both  little  hands.  "  And  you  are  Marian.  And 


226          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

you  will  let  me  learn  to  love  you  ?  1  don't  ask  you  to 
try  to  return  my  love,  for  I  am  of  such  an  ugly  disposi 
tion  that  you  cannot." 

"  We  will  see."  And  Marian  drew  her  gently  near 
and  kissed  her. 

"  T"  t'  ink  dese  ole  eyes  hab  libed  t'  see  dat  P '  mur 
mured  the  n  egress,  proudly. 

"  We  have  both  been  longing  for  your  coming  for 
hours,  and  Percy  was  so  restless  that  I  came  to  watch  the 
road  from  a  side  window.  I  caught  the  first  glimpse  of 
you  afar  off,  and  ran  to  tell  him.  Go  to  him,  mammy, 
and 'fix  him  up  a  bit  while  I  attend  to  Miss  Marian." 

Mammy  disappeared  in  silence. 

"  There  are  many  things  I  want  to  ask  your  pardon 
for,"  began  Lucy,  in  a  hesitating  tone.  "Yes,  you 
must  let  me  speak  of  these  things  while  the  mood  is  upon 
me.  I  am  a  perverse  creature,  and  cannot  rely  on  my 
present  good  impulse.  You  do  not  know  how,  in  the 
past  years,  I  have  tried  to  injure  you.  1  am  ashamed  of 
it  now,  1  am  quite  sure — " 

"  Pray,  do  not  allude  to  the  past,"  said  Marian. 
"  Lot  us  speak  of  the  present." 

"It  was  one  of  your  own  countrymen,"  persisted 
Lucy,  "  who  changed  my  upstart  pride  to  a  more  toler 
able  basis.  1  do  not  know  his  name,  but  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  I  thank  him.  I  was  in  Richmond, 
walking  along  the  street.  Two  gentlemen,  whom  I 
knew  to  be  Yankees,  were  standing  in  a  doorway  talking. 
They  seemed  to  be  in  a  merry  mood.  As  I  passed,  one 
of  them  exclaimed  :  '  Gentle,  is  he  ?  good  reason  for  it, 
too  ;  poverty  would  make  a  hog  gentle  ! '  The  expression 
haunted  me,  1  confess,  for  weeks.  I  came  to  the  con 
clusion,  finally,  that  I  was  poor  enough  to  be  gentle  ;  but 
the  new  role  didn't  work  well  at  first,  Marian.  My 
friends  were  sure  1  was  falling  ill  because  1  was  so  sub 
dued  in  manner,  and  this  belief  led  to  embarrassing  com 
plications,  I  assure  you.  1  do  not  know  that  any  of  them 
even  yet  believe  in  the  genuineness  of  my  repentance. 
Mine  is  a  life  wasted,  rny  sister,  a  life  wasted  !" 

Marian  started  at  the  word   "sister."      "Southern 


THE   SICK-CHAMBER.  227 

like,  she  seems  to  be  assuming  all  things  from  one  slight 
premise,  "she  mused,  silently.  Then  she  smiled  at  the 
little  woman's  earnestness,  and  regarded  the  mobile 
features  attentively. 

"  She  looks  amiable,  but  not  sincere  ;  she  is  voluble, 
but  not  nattering  ;  proud,  but  not  conceited  ;  jealous, 
but  not  suspicious.  1  think  1  shall  like  her  measurably.'*'* 
Having  thus  weighed  this  new  acquaintance  in  her  mental 
balances,  Yankee-like,  Marian  led  the  talk  to  other 
themes,  until  mammy  reappeared  to  guide  her  to  the 
sick- chamber. 


XXXI. 

THE    SICK-CHAMBER. 

"  MAS'E  PERCY  was  tooken  wid  a  feelin'  dat  he  like  t' 
be  in  his  ma's  chamber,"  explained  Aunt  Rose,  as  they 
threaded  the  narrow  corridors,  "  so  we  moved  him  in 
dar.  Nobody  ain't  slep'  dar  afore  sence  she  died,  an'  it 
give  me  a  mighty  cur' us,  tremblin'  sort  o'  startin'  at 
ev'ry  noise  at  fust.  De  furniture  am  mighty  ancient, 
an'  eb'ry  t'ing  's  jest  as  she  lef  it." 

It  was  a  long,  low  room  into  which  Marian  was 
ushered,  with  two  tiny  diamond-paned  windows  in  one 
end  fronting  the  east.  Large-flowered  chintz  curtains 
were  looped  back  with  simple  bands  of  the  same  material. 
There  was  a  "chest  of  drawers,"  with  heavy  bronzed 
rings  and  curving,  carved  legs,  and  which  possessed  a" 
romanic  history. 

A  straight-backed  sofa,  covered  with  similar  chintz,  as 
were  the  low,  stuffed  chairs,  with  carved  oaken  backs  ;  a 
quaint  oval,  ebony-framed  mirror  hanging  from  the  ceil 
ing  ;  a  huge  bed  made  up  high  with  feathers,  and  draped 
with  curtains  of  chintz,  which  were  looped  away  from 
the  sides  ;  a  faded  domestic  carpet  of  pleasing  tints, 
and  a  wondrous  wall-paper  of  gayly-plumaged  birds  dis- 


228          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IK   VIRGINIA. 

porting  on  evergreen  boughs  of  an  unnatural  greenness, 
were  the  objects  upon  which  Marian  gazed  as  she  slowly 
went  to  the  bed  of  the  sufferer. 

He  lay  watching  her  slow  approach.  The  graceful 
figure  seemed  a  trine  drooping,  he  thought,  but  that  may 
have  been  caused  by  a  feeling  of  unwonted  shyness  at 
the  strangeness  of  this  visit.  She  clasped  his  hand,  out 
stretched  with  a  painful  eagerness,  in  both  hers,  and 
stood  there  looking  sadly  at  the  pallid  face  upturned  with 
a  pitiful  pleading  expression. 

"  Oh,  my  love,  my  love,  1  thank  you  so  for  com 
ing  !"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  It  was  much  to  ask  of 
you.  Too  much,  perhaps  ;  but  my  longing  was  so 
great,  and  my  time  so  short  !" 

"You  must  not  talk  so,  Percy,"  and  his  eyes 
kindled,  flame-like,  as  her  sweet  tones  called  his  name. 
"  You  must  only  think,  now,  about  your  getting  well. 
And  I  was  glad  to  come  to  see  you,  if  I  can  only  help 
you,"  she  added,  plaintively. 

"You  can,  you  can!  The  sound  of  your  voice,  the 
glimpse  of  your  dear  eyes,  the  touch  of  your  hand — why, 
1  can  almost  feel  a  new  life  surging  within  me.  I  have 
wondered,  in  the  still  midnights,  how  it  would  seem  to 
be  in  heaven  with  my  mother.  It  seemed  as  if  that 
would  be  the  utmost  bliss  my  soul  could  ask.  It  is 
curious,  but  I  have  exactly  the  same  sensation  now.  1 
want  nothing  more.  Whether  heaven  or  earth,  it  is  all 
one  and  the  same  to  me." 

Marian's  eyes  filled  as  she  softly  stroked  the  nerveless 
fingers.  "  You  are  talking  too  much,  Percy.  Mammy 
charged  me  not  to  let  you  talk." 

"  How  can  1  help  it,  dear,  when  1  am  inspired  to 
speech  ?"  he  smiled.  "  Besides,  that  dreadful  pain  in 
my  side  seems  to  have  left  me.  Oh,  the  weariness  of  the 
days  that  are  past,  Marian  !  Oh,  the  stubbornness  of  my 
mean  pride  !  I  could  abase  myself  in  the  dust  as  I  think 
of  it.  How  can  you  stand  there  looking  so  divinely 
compassionate  over  this  result  of  my  supreme  foolish 
ness  ? 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  see  it  all  now — the  long  train  of   evils 


THE    SICK-CHAMBER.  229 

which  led  to  this  !  A  bully  ?  No,  that  never  !  But  a 
£  fire-eater  '  always.  It  is  a  family  inheritance.  And  it 
has  led  me  to  this — rny  death- wound." 

"  Hush,  you  have  no  right  to  say  that  !"  gently  inter 
posed  Marian. 

"  No  right  ?  1  have  the  right  pertaining  to  mortal 
peril  to  declare  itself.  And  I  know,  in  spite  of  what 
my  surgeons  say  in  my  hearing,  their  real  opinion  of  my 
case.  Day  and  night  a  few  words  go  ringing  in  my 
ears  :  c  Thou  shalt  die  and  not  live,'  until  1  press  the 
pillow  close,  close,  to  shut  them  out.  Oh,  it  is  hideous  !" 

"  I  will  stay  with  you  and  help  to  shut  them  out, 
Percy.  You  shall  live  and  not  die  !"  cried  Marian, 
timidly. 

"  Bless  you,  my  own  darling  !  Oh,  if  it  could  be  !" 
he  cried,  eagerly.  "If  it  can  only  be  !" 

His  eyes  rested  on  the  spray  of  honeysuckle  pinned  to 
her  gown.  A  dreamy  look  passed  over  them.  "  It  is 
all  very  sweet,"  he  murmured;  "very  soothing  and 
very  sweet."  And  so  saying,  he  fell  asleep. 

"  Yis,  honey,  he  be  dead  tired,  po'  lam'.  B't  I 
reck'n  dis  yer1!!  rest  him  pow'ful.  He  ain't  slep'  so 
sence  it  happen' d.  An'  de  doctors  hab  jest  rid  by  de 
winder,  too,  a-comin'  ter  dress  his  hurt.  Ef  yer'll  slip 
inter  Miss  Lucy's  room,  Miss  Maryon,  I'll  b'  sure  t'  let 
y'  know  when  dey  goes  'way  'g'in." 

"  I  wish  you  could  stay  with  us,  Marian.  You  com 
fort  me  mightily  in  my  trouble,"  said  Lucy  as  the  after 
noon  waned. 

"  I  was  only  waiting  to  be  asked ,"  smiled  the  guest, 
archly.  "  I  intend  to  let  mammy  have  a  good  night's 
rest,  while  I  watch  instead.  Doubtless  you  are  not  aware 
that  I  am  considered  a  good  nurse,  and  my  talents  in 
that  line  must  be  known  to  be  appreciated,"  she  fin 
ished,  cheerily. 

"  1  can  well  believe  it."  A  ghost  of  a  smile  flickered 
over  Lucy' swan  face  an  instant.  "I  am  worse  than 
useless  in  a  sick-room,  mammy  says,  and  I  seem  always 
to  make  Percy  very  restless.  '  Mammy  says  it' s  because 
/am  so.  Do  vou  think  so  ?" 


230          A   YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IJST   VIRGINIA. 

"  I  think  you  will  be  better  off.  in  bed  for  this  one 
night.  I  must  be  off  early  in  the  morning  to  my  school, 
and  then  you  will  be  quite  fresh  and  strong  to  take  my 
place." 

'  1  wish  you  could  give  up  your  school  for  a  while," 
pleaded  Lucy.  "  I  have  closed  mine.  I  must  make  up 
the  time  after  the  term  closes,  I  suppose." 

"  I  will  see  if  1  cannot  get  Uncle  Judah  to  bring  me 
over  to-morrow  evening,"  said  Marian,  thoughtfully. 
"  I  can  walk  back  quite  well  in  the  mornings." 

"  But  there  is  no  need,"  protested  the  little  hostess, 
earnestly.  "  There  is  old  Jupe  can  drive  over  early 
enough  for  your  school  and  go  for  you  after  the  even 
ing  session.  It  is  but  a  farm  team,  but  I  think  you  will 
not  mind  that  now.  It  is  all  we  have,"  added  Lucy, 
humbly. 

"  My  orders  is  ter  see  dat  yer  hab  yer  supper,"  said 
Rose,  gliding  through  the  doorway. 

"  As  if  I  had  not  attended  to  that  hours  ago!"  ex 
claimed  Lucy,  indignantly. 

"  Ob  coorse,  honey,  /  knowedyer  hed,  well  'nough," 
Rose  added,  in  a  mollifying  tone.  "  B't  my  po'  boy 
don't  take  no  'count  o'  time  now,  yer  mus'  rec'lec',  an' 
I  wus  only  givin'  my  orders.  An'  it's  plain  he's  tooken 
wid  a  strong  'sire  t'  swap  off  nurses  awhile.1'  Rose  was 
happy  over  the  implied  snubbing  of  her  attendance,  as 
her  smiles  betrayed. 

((  You  are  to  give  me  directions,"  interposed  Marian, 
promptly  rising,  "  and  betake  yourself  to  sleep  after 
ward.  There's  a  sofa  you  might  have,  no  doubt.  1 
should  wish  you  near  enough  to  call  you  if  I  needed 
you." 

"  So  dar  be,  Miss  Mary  on.  An'  I  reck'n  a  trifle 
slumber  won't  hurt  me  none.  B't  yit  I  kin  put  up  t'  do 
widout  it,  ef  my  boy  needs  ole  Rose.  He  bery  weak  t'- 
night,  1  kin  see,  an'  dem  doctors  giv'  him  a  heap  pain  t' 
b'ar.  I  dun  no  as  dey  seem,  f'r  t1  be  any  'count  ;  leas1- 
ways,  de  change  dey  make  in  Mas'r  Percy's  c'ndition 
ain't  bery  rapid.  I  knowed  de  sight  ob  you,  honey,  wus 
more  heart'nm.'  dan  tons  ob  dere  ugly  smellin'  stuff," 


THE    SICK-CHAMBER.  231 

"  This  is  my  mother's  room,"  he  whispered,  yielding 
up  his  hand  to  Marian's  warm  clasp.  "  How  do  you 
like  it?" 

"It  is  charming,"  she  answered,  looking  around.  "  It 
is  so  quaint  and  old-fashioned  and  home-like.  I  like 
every  detail. " 

He  looked  the  pleasure  he  felt.  "  So  it  seems  to 
me.  It  is  the  one  room  in  this  rambling  old  house  that 
1  never  tire  of,  never  desire  to  see  changed. 

"  And,  Marian,  you  would  have  loved  my  mother 
too.  Every  one  did.  We  are  none  of  us  like  her,"  lie 
sighed.  "  It  would  all  have  been  so  different  with  us  if 
she  had  stayed  with  us. 

"  That  is  her  arm-chair  over  in  that  corner  ;  no  one 
ever  sits  in  it  now.  Would  it  be  distasteful,  my  dar 
ling,  to  you  to  occupy  it  ?  I  have  a  fancy  to  see  you  in 
it." 

Man  an  pressed  the  hand  she  held,  and  in  silence 
wheeled  the  luxurious  seat  to  the  bedside. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  a  stern  nurse.  I  assure  you,  Mas 
ter  Percy,  you  will  not  find  me  of  so  yielding  and 
coaxable  a  nature  as  Mammy  Eose.  Medicine  you  shall 
swallow  at  the  appointed  hours,  and  the  rest  of  the  time 
you  shall  sleep. ' ' 

He  smiled  at  her  assumption  of  firmness,  then  he 
made  a  wry  face.  "  I  never  could  take  drugs  patiently. 
There's  Lucy,  now,  at  the  wrord  of  command  will  open 
her  little  mouth  and  not  a  muscle  twitch  as  down  go  the 
nauseous  mixtures,  like  so  much  sugar  candy.  Oh,  if 
you  want  a  model  of  patience  in  sickness,  Lucy,  I  am 
sure,  would  please  you  !" 

"  But  I  don't  want  a  model  of  patience,"  saucily 
smiled  Marian.  "  I  prefer,  school-ma'am-like,  to  sub 
due  intractable  patients.  I  fear  (to  tell  the  truth)  that 
I  am  a  good  deal  like  Uncle  Judah,  who  constantly 
declares  that  he'd  '  ruther  whip  dan  not.  De  gum- 
switch  mak'  'em  step  'roun'  'mazin'  swift,  dat  it  do  !  ' 
And  all  the  years  of  rny  knowledge  of  him  I  have  noticed 
that  his  threats  alone  suffice  to  preserve  order  in  his 
numerous  family." 


232          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

"  And  you  expect  to  reap  similar  result  from  yours  ? 
Well,  that  is  cool — Southern  coolness  !"  He  laughed, 
but  the  effort  appeared  to  hurt  him,  and  a  sigh  followed. 

"  Yankee  coolness,  if  you  please,"  corrected  Miss 
Marian,  as  she  unrolled  some  knitting  work.  "  I  begged 
this  of  Lucy,  to  occupy  my  hands  ;  I  am  so  accustomed 
to  work  of  various  kinds  that  I  miss  it." 

"  I  believe  you  think  it  a  sin  to  sit  still !' '  he  exclaimed 
a  little  petulantly.  "  Let  me  occupy  your  hands." 
His  gaze  was  a  little  reproachful,  she  thought,  and  she 
threw  aside  the  half-finished  stocking. 

The  instant  he  perceived  that,  he  was  uneasy  and 
troubled  of  aspect.  "  Take  it  up,  please,"  he  whis 
pered.  u  I  shall  like  to  see  you  knit.  My  mother  used 
to  knit.  Yes,  the  flashing  of  the  needles  amuses  me, 
or  it  used  to  when  I  was  a  lad. 

"  A  i  stern  nurse  '  indeed  !  And  you  give  in  to 
my  tyranny  like  that  !  Now,  Marian,  let  me  tell  you  ; 
you  are  not  to  consider  my  irritation,  my  boyish  im 
patience  as  anything  but  a  part  of  my  extreme  bodily 
weakness,  which  you  must  overlook,  or  else  subdue,  as 
pleases  you.  You  are  altogether  lovely  and  charming 
in  my  eyes.  Whether  you  work  or  rest,  smile  or  weep, 
talk  or  keep  silence,  you  are  Marian,  always  Marian  !" 

"  Your  heart  is  set  on  an  abstraction,  Percy,"  she 
said,  mildly.  "  You  are  an  artist,  and  the  vision  you 
see  you  clothe  in  gorgeous  colors  out  of  your  opulent 
imagination.  The  real  Marian  is  but  a  shade  beside  her 
of  your  own  creation. ' ' 

"  And  what  then  ?"  he  queried,  resentfully. 

"  Only  this  :  I  hate  to  have  you  waste  the  substance 
of  your  love  on  a  shadow. ' ' 

"  And  you  care  so  much  for  me  as  this  ?"  he  cried, 
with  beaming  eyes.  4 f  And  if  I  am  wholly  satisfied 
with  ( the  shadow,'  as  you  persist  in  styling  my  lovely 
girl  ?  A  '  shadow  '  indeed  !  she  is  a  glorious  creature, 
a  noble  woman,  whom  to  be  permitted  to  walk  with 
through  life's  ways  would  be  a  blessing  too  great  to  hope 
to  attain  unto. ' ' 

She  smiled  sadly.      "  Our   lives  are    so    little,   dear 


"SOME    HAPPY   TIDINGS."  233 

Percy.  It  seems  to  me  we  should  think  only  of  doing, 
doing,  and  not  of  enjoying." 

"  And  my  love  is  so  great,  Marian.  And  I  do  not 
want  to  wait  until  the  hereafter  to  claim  you  as  mine. 

' '  Ah  !  I  remember  that  another  is  tliere. ' 3  A  spasm  of 
pain  contracted  his  lips,  pressed  firmly  together.  Marian's 
needles  flashed  rapidly  up  and  down  in  the  dim  lamp 
light.  Why  had  he  torn  open  the  healed  wound  by  a 
chance  allusion  ?  Why  could  not  the  calm  sweetness  of 
a  sisterly  friendship  content  him  for  the  rest  of  this 
mortal  life,  journeying  to  the  hidden  shores,  whence  all 
these  sundered  lives  converge  at  last  ? 

"  When  mortals  put  on  immortality,"  she  murmured, 
inaudibly.  Was  he  then  jealous  of  her  one  immortal 
waiting  there  ?  Ah  !  that  one.  It  seemed  but  as  yes 
terday  that  he  stood  beside  her  in  the  full  health  and 
strength  of  his  young  manhood,  his  sunny  hairllung  back 
from  his  eager  face  by  the  freshening  mountain  breeze  ; 
his  blue  eyes  full  of  a  tremulous  light  she  was  destined 
never  to  meet  again  ;  his  usual  reticent  speech  giving 
way  to  a  torrent  of  passionate  words,  every  one  of  \vhich 
was  burnt  in  indelibly  upon  her  memory  !  It  was 
cruel  !  Oh,  it  was  cruel  ! 

Like  the  dying  echoes  of  a  dream,  as  we  wake  afresh 
to  the  stir  of  morning  life,  she  faintly  heard  Percy's 
speech  go  sounding  on.  "  And  when  arid  where  comes 
my  reward  for  patient  waiting,  working  for,  hoping,  if 
my  one  crown  cannot  be  given  into  my  keeping  'C ' 

She  came  out  of  her  re  very  with  a  sigh.  u  Who  can 
tell?" 


XXXII. 


THE  days  wore  painfully  and  slowly  away.  The 
spring  advanced  joyously  on  every  side  ;  buds  expanded 
into  blossoms  on  trees  and  shrubs,  and  sprang  np 


A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

smilingly  beside  forest  walks.  The  cheerful  clatter  of 
the  farm  hands  going  to  or  returning  from  their  daily 
toil  began  and  ended  the  quiet  days  at  Stetten  Woods. 
Percy  lay,  with  increasing  feebleness,  in  his  mother's 
room — lay  and  listened  to  the  outside  noises — listened, 
with  strained  ears,  for  the  daily  arrival  of  Marian.  He 
grew  to  distinguish  the  soft  footfall  on  the  stairs  below, 
mounting — wearily  enough  sometimes — slowly  ;  then  a 
light  tap  as  she  pushed  the  door  and  entered.  Some 
times  Lucy  entered  with  her  ;  often  mammy  sent  her  up 
alone.  But  always  the  haggard,  listless  face  of  Percy 
brightened  as  if  it  were  an  angel  visitor. 

"  What  a  burden  I  am  to  my  friends  1"  he  exclaimed 
one  day.  "  I  seem  to  get  neither  better  nor  worse.  I 
am  exasperated  with  those  doctors  shaking  their  heads 
when  turned  from  my  gaze,  and  smiling  serenely  as  they 
feel  my  wrist  professionally.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  be  a 
doctor,  Marian." 

"Is  it  ?"  returned  Marian,  soberly.  Her  blue  orbs 
surveyed  him  critically.  Day  by  day  she  had  detected 
an  alteration  for  the  worse'.  The  pallid  countenance 
looked  pinched  with  pain  ;  deep  wrinkles  seamed  it  ;  the 
glossy  hair  was  matted  and  lustreless. 

She  sank,  nervelessly,  into  her  usual  seat.  "  Dear 
Percy,  we  all  wish  to  help  you  live, ' '  she  said,  slowly. 

"  I  have  never  really  thought  I  should  get  well,"  he 
replied,  calmly.  "  I  was  restless  over  it  at  first,  but  I 
am  not  now.  I  think  each  day  brings  me  somewhat 
more  of  peace. ' ' 

She  sat  silently  thinking. 

"  It  is  you,  my  love,  who  in  some  mysterious  manner 
have  brought  around  this  state  of  feeling,"  he  resumed. 
"  Perhaps  it  is  merely  your  presence  here.  Whatever  it 
may  be,  the  result  is  the  serene  temper  which  has  blessed 
me  lately. 

"  And  I  have  wanted  to  say  to  you — I  will  say  it 
now,  lest  no  other  opportunity  should  come  to  me — after 
ward  you  are  never  to  cherish  any  bitter  thought 
toward  Joe,  for  it  was  all  my  fault — all  and  wholly 
mine.  I  provoked  him  beyond  what  any  mortal  man 


"SOME   HAPPY  TIDINGS."  235 

would  bear.  I  am  glad  to  set  this  right  before  it  is  too 
late,  Marian.  As  for  mammy,  she  will  hear  none  of  it. 
Do  not  heed  her  version  ;  she  always  has  sided  with  me, 
from  childhood  up.  Dear  old  mammy  !  The  faithfulest  of 
living  creatures.  And  I  sha'n't  be  parted  from  her  long. 
Mammy  is  very  old,  and  she  won't  stay  long  behind." 

"  Don't,  pray  don't  !"  entreated  Marian. 

"  And  I  have  lost  some  other  foolishness,"  the  sick 
man  resumed,  feebly.  "  I  am  no  more  jealous,  Marian. 
Oh  yes,  you  will  know  my  meaning  !  What  a  storm- 
tossed  soul  I  have  had  along  back  !  But  the  waves  are 
bearing  rne  gently  along  now,  my  love,  and  the  shores 
will  be  soon  in  sight. 

"  I  think,"  he  whispered,  as  if  in  a  delirium,  "  I  am 
almost  sure  that  he  won' t  refuse  his  hand.  Do  you  think 
he  will  ?  The  bitterness  of  warfare  ceases  at  the  last,  my 
Marian,  and  the  other  army  there  wears  both  the  blue  and 
the  gray. ' ' 

He  muttered  incoherently  for  some  time,  and  dropped 
off  into  a  fitful  slumber. 

Marian's  heart  seemed  saddened  beyond  speech. 
Silently,  not  to  awaken  him,  she  paced  up  and  down  the 
room,  her  hands  crossed  meekly  before  her.  Ever  and 
anon  she  stole  to  the  bedside  and  listened  to  the  labored 
breathing.  At  last,  as  if  unable  to  bear  the  sound,  she 
opened  the  door  into  the  adjoining  chamber,  and  stole 
inside.  There  mammy  found  her  soon  after,  rocking 
her  body  to  and  fro,  her  whole  being  a  tempest  of  grief. 

"  Oh,"  she  sobbed  brokenly,  "  tell  me  why  1  feel  so, 
mammy  ?  My  heart  is  broken. 


'Cause,  honey,  dear,  you  love  my  boy.     Dat's  why 

h 
an'   it  jest  stan's  ter  reason  dat   yer 


yer  feels  so. 


inj  y  ,    ^.octi ,     yv^u.     au  v  \j    Jla-l/     *fj*         J-' l  J 

Ole  Rose  hab  sharp  eyes,  Miss  Maryon, 
a's  ter  reason  dat  yer  couldn't  hoi'  out 
'g'inst  "one  dat  sots  him  bery  soul  b7  ye.  I  t'inks 
yer've  been  a  long  time  in  findin'  out  dat  yer  keers  a 
trifle  f'r  him,"  said  Rose,  with  sad  reproachful  ness. 

She  sobbed  violently,  "  Oh,  it  brings  back  so  keenly 
the  old  pain  !  It  is  like  a  burial  of  my  soldier-lad, 
whose  grave  1  never  could  find  !  I  can't  bear  it, 
mammy,  I  can't  bear  this  second  loss  !" 


236         A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

Mammy  Hose  knelt  before  her,  and  tlie  hot  tears  drip 
ped  from  her  aged  face  on  Marian's  clasped  fingers  : 
"  Ah  !  chile,  yer' 11  hab  ter  b'ar  jest  what  ole  Mas'r  up 
above  t'inks  bes'  f  r  ye  ! 

66  Oh,  Miss  Mary  on,  dear,  cle  trufe  be  dat  yer  loved 
'em  both  !  Dat's  why  de  same  ole  pain  creeps  an'  creeps 
up  ober  ye,  smodderin'  out  all  de  sunshine." 

Marian  checked  her  sobs,  and  grasped  Rose's  toil-worn 
hands.  "  1  hear  him  stirring,  and  you  must  go  in  at 
once.  But  tell  me  first,  do  you  think  if  I  whispered  all 
that  he  longs  so  to  hear — do  you  think,  mammy,  I  could 
help  him  to  live  ?" 

"  I  dunno,  chile,"  said  Rose,  sadly.  "  Him  'pear  t' 
me  ter  be  bery  nigh  Jurdan.  B't  yer  might  try,  Miss 
Mary  on.  Dis  yer  ole  heart  'd  be  mighty  gladsome  ter 
hab  yer  try." 

"  Percy  is  inquiring  for  you,"  said  Lucy,  entering  and 
closing  the  door  softly  behind  her.  "  He  is,  I  am  sure, 
very  exacting  ;  but  you  found  out  long  ago,  Marian,  that 
he  cannot  bear  -you  out  of  his  sight. 

"  But  what  does  this  mean?"  she  cried,  aghast. 
"  You  have  been  crying  ;  surely  you  don't  think — 

"1  think,"  interrupted  Marian,  "that  1  have  not 
known  my  own  heart  till  now.  And  the  sudden  knowl 
edge  proved  something  of  a  shock  to  me. ' ' 

Ah  !"  Lucy  stood  gravely  regarding  her.  "  Was 
this  what  mammy  meant  when  she  whispered  to  Percy, 
*  My  po'  boy,  Miss  Mary  on' s  gwine  ter  brung  yer  some 
happy  tidings  !  I  hopes,  suah  'nough,  'twon't  done  up- 
sot  ye  quite.'  : 

Involuntarily  the  two  middle-aged  women  looked  at 
each  other  and  smiled. 

Marian  spoke  first  :  "I'm  at  your  i  sarvice,  suah 
'nough,'  Miss  Lucy,  if  you  will  take  me  for  a  sister." 

"Why,"  said  Lucy,  laughing,  and  winding  her  arms 
about  Marian's  neck  in  girlish  fashion,  "  I  did  that  long 
ago.  1  thought  it  had  been  quite  settled  when  you  first 
came  to  Stetten. " 

"Just  like  a  Southerner,  to  jump  to  conclusions!" 
exclaimed  Marian,  mischievously. 


"SOME  HAPPY  TIDINGS."  237 

"  Just  like  a  Yankee,  never  to  be  able  to  make  up  her 
mind  without  a  'course  of  lectures'  first,"  retorted 
Lucy.  "  I  thank  my  stars  I  am  a  Southern  woman." 

"And  I  that  lam  a  Yankee  woman,"  said  Marian, 
merrily.  "  Bat  we  are  both  too  staid,  and  severe,  and 
old  to  quarrel.  Besides,  being  teachers,  we  must  set  an 
example — " 

"  In  fractions  ?"  queried  Lucy,  gayly. 

"  Look  a  yere  now  !  What  ye  mean  a-foolin'  'way  de 
time  in  dis  yer  style?"  inquired  Rose,  hotly,  appearing 
in  the  doorway.  "  'Fo'  de  law.  Miss  Mary  on,  I  hab  t' 
high  an  'pinion  on  ye  ter  b'ar  it  any  longer.  I'se  a- 
gwine  in  dar,  ter  stay,  or  else  yer  is.  It's  f'r  yer  t' 
say,  honey,"  she  added,  in  a  mollified  tone,  fearing  lest 
she  had  gone  too  far. 

u/am  going  in,"  said  Marian,  gliding  through  and 
closing  the  door. 

"  Percy,  Percy" — she  stooped  to  take  his  thin,  white 
fingers  in  hers  caressingly — "  I've  come  to  tell  you 
something  that  you  ought  to  have  known  ages  before." 

"  Some  happy  tidings  ?"  he  said,  brightening. 

"  If  you  will  think  so.  There  has  been  a  little 
room  in  my  heart  for  you  for  many  years,  but  I  have 
recently  discovered,  dear  Percy,  that  you  have  taken 
entire  possession.  What  are  you  to  do  about  it  ?" 

"Is  it  all  mine,  entirely  my  own  ?"  he  whispered,  ex 
citedly. 

"  Entirely  yours,  my  love,  if  you  still  care  for  it." 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?"  he  repeated  ;  "  why,  I  am  going 
to  try  to  live  j  that's  what  I'll  do.  I  did  not  care  be 
fore.  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling  !  God  will  send  us 
happy  days  and  years  in  the  future.  I  grow  delirious 
almost  with  thinking  of  it. 

"  You  cannot  imagine,  as  I  lay  here,  with  what  vivid 
ness  the  old  battle  scenes  reproduce  themselves.  I  have 
been  through  them  all  many  times.  I  heard  the  shoutings, 
the  imprecations,  the  whiz  of  bullets,  and  the  groans  of 
the  dying.  How  callous  we  grew  in  those  dreadful 
years'!  we  did  believe,  my  Marian,  that  wolves  would 
not  touch  a  Yankee  corpse.  We  could  even,  in  our  igno- 


238          A    YANKEE   SCHOOL-TEACHER   IN   VIRGINIA. 

rant  imaginations,  spurn  the  dead  like  that.  You  must 
know  the  very  worst  of  me — even  to  my  inmost 
thoughts." 

"You  are  feverish,  my  love,  even  now.  Do  not  tell 
me  of  these  things.  It  is  all  in  the  long  ago.  Do  you 
have  these  images  and  sounds  when  I  am  with  you  ?" 
she  inquired,  anxiously. 

"  Never  !     It  is  all  peace  then. " 

"  I  am  going  away  no  more,  Percy.  1  have  but  a 
divided  attention  to  give  either  you  or  my  school.  Can 
you  doubt  which  duty  I  will  choose  ?  I  love  you  so 
dearly  that  I  think  you  will  live  to  forgive  me  all  the 
pain  I  have  made  you  suffer. 

"  Yes,  my  darling,  I  feel  that  there  are  happy  years 
before  us.  Together  we  will  work  to  restore  this 
pleasant  old  inheritance. ' ' 

She  stooped  and  kissed  him  as  she  spoke,  and  his  dark 
eyes  glowed  with  pride  and  pleasure. 

"  Dar  now,  chilluns,"  exclaimed  mammy,  bustling 
into  the  room,  "1  done  hope  dar's  gwine  ter  be  ^no 
more  mistakes  ob  asim'larsort — neberno  mo'  !  An'  it's 
time  f 'r  some  mo'  ob  dat  ugly  smellin'  med'cin'.  'Spec's 
Mas'r  Percy  won't  need  fer  b'  hired  t'  take  it,  ef  Miss 
Maryon  only  hoi'  it  ter  his  lips." 

"No  more  mistakes, "  repeated  Percy,  as  he  fondly 
kissed  Marian's  hand.  "  To  think  that,  after  all,  I  have 
won  my  Yankee  school-ma'am  !  !" 

THE    END. 


72728 


M143843 


L4 

a 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


BRAIN  AND  NERVE  FOOD. 

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d  is  peevish.  It  gives  a  happier  childhood. 

Physicians  have  used  a  Million  Packages.  It  is  not  a  secret  remedy  ; 
3  formula  is  on  every  label. 

By  Druggists  or  by  Mail,  $1. 

ten*  for  circular.  ft  CROSBY  CO.,  56  West  25th  St.,  N.  Y. 


SORHER 


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